


Smoke Signals

by PeppyDragon



Series: Straight Outta Stardew [1]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Mental Health Issues, Personal Growth, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow(ish) Burn, Trust Issues, brief cannabis use, let me know if you want more tags!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:31:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyDragon/pseuds/PeppyDragon
Summary: After a violent mental break that leaves her jobless, Rory moves from the bustle of Zuzu City to her grandfather's old cabin in Stardew Valley. Despite her attempts not to, she begins to feel at home - mostly due to a particular author who lives by the sea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory sat on the porch, staring out over the overgrown fields and thicket of pines. The barn needed fixing, but that would require materials she didn't have and didn't have the means to buy. She needed to make her rounds of the town and hope someone - or _many_ someones - would take pity on her and help get the farm back in order.

Rory knew that her success entirely hinged on her ability to get off of the porch and make a move, to do something, _anything,_ productive. But she found herself sitting on the porch as if pinned down, her ballet flats rooted to the wood. Her fingernails, ragged from her anxious picking on the bus ride to Pelican Town, scratched at the grain of her grandfather's old rocking chair.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she breathed, her heart clamoring, trying to climb up through her throat and escape.

She was still sitting on the porch by the time Mayor Lewis came around, looking confused at the lack of progress. He looked even more alarmed when he found Rory staring absently out into the wilds attempting to overtake the 100 acres around her.

“Rory, settling in?” he called up as he stepped around a fallen branch on the overgrown cobblestones leading up to the house.

Rory glanced his way and had to remind herself that responding promptly was how rational human beings operated. She forced a smile that felt alien on her lips; it had been a long time since she'd even tried to smile. “Oh, Mayor. Sorry, just… overwhelmed.”

Mayor Lewis nodded sympathetically, glancing out over the field in front of them. “I've been talking with some of the townspeople - who are thrilled to meet you, by the way - and we are putting together a task force to get this place cleared this weekend. If that's alright with you? I didn't want to presume-”

Rory felt the vice grip on her heart lessen slightly. Help. “That would be amazing; I don't know anything about any of this; I'd appreciate all the help I can get.”

The mayor chuckled softly, glancing down at his feet for a moment. “Well, I put a notice out and got a good response. Robin and Marnie are going to come up first thing Saturday to patch up the coop and barn to get things ready for animals. I think Jodi mentioned her son, Sam, is coming out, too. He's about your age; might be good for you two to meet.” Rory tried to ignore Lewis’ knowing smile. The last thing she needed was the stress of a boy her age mucking her brain up more than it already was. “If you wanted to go make introductions, you might be able to secure some more help.”

Rory nodded absently, swallowing. Meeting people. How long had it been since she'd done more than water-cooler conversation and shoddy pickup lines? “I'll go around today. I needed to stop by town for things, anyway. Seeds, I guess? I don't really….” She finally got to her feet, letting out a laugh that sounded more hysterical than she wanted. “I'm out of my element. Sorry.”

Mayor Lewis watched her kindly. “Pierre is going to come by later with some tools for you, free of charge. Your granddaddy didn't do too much with the land at the end, so his tools are shot. Maybe start clearing the land before thinking about planting or getting animals? Just a suggestion, of course. And lean on Robin and Marnie, they know everything about working and living off of the land. Do you still have the map I gave you?”

The map of where everything was in Stardew Valley. Rory was reasonably sure it was still on the rickety kitchen table where Mayor Lewis left it. “Um, yeah.”

“Good! If you're up to it, like I said, talk to your neighbors. We're all friends here - maybe a little cautious at first, but overall good folks. But I'm sure it won't take you long to make some impressions.”

 _Impressions of being a neurotic bag of nonsense,_ she thought venomously, but cleared her throat. “I'll, um. I'll get out later today.”

Lewis smiled, but it was the kind of smile that pursed in concern. He rapped his knuckles on the stair rails leading up to the porch. “Well, just wanted to say I'm glad to see another young face around here, especially on this farm. It's hard work, but it's freeing. Sometimes all you need is a new start.”

Rory wasn't sure if Mayor Lewis had been a therapist in a past life, but he was looking at her as if he could see through her. Had she mentioned the mental breakdown that led to her dismissal from Joja Corporation's central office? She doubted it; she'd put a lot of effort into not thinking about it. Even so, he was looking at her as if he had been there to witness her smashing her phone against the desk and tossing her computer monitor against the wall, all while screeching wordless, animalistic things at her coworkers.

“Thanks,” she answered belatedly, blinking back the memory and the sudden sharp pain in her chest. She let out a little breath discreetly as he waved and turned to leave, ambling up the path toward town.

Rory looked out over the grass clumps and saplings overtaking the field and sighed. It was time to be an adult, she told herself, steeling for the most uncomfortable thing she could hope to do: meet new people who would stare at her like a circus animal.

 _Circus freak more like._ Rory gritted her teeth and entered her new house, moving into the bedroom to rifle through her clothes, still rumpled in her suitcases.

 

* * *

 

“Oh! So _you're_ Rory!”

Rory was having a hard time controlling her thumping heart, but she managed to force a grin at the woman in front of her - Jodi, or so Rory’s map proclaimed. She was pretty, her eyes lined with laughter wrinkles, and a dish towel in her hands. “Yes, I'm sorry I'm just stopping in, I don't have phone numbers to call ahead-”

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed, gently pulled Rory’s arm and tugging her into the house. “We all just stop in around here, no need to call. How is the farm? Mayor Lewis said that it was getting rough. Oh, Rory, you should meet-”

Before she could continue, a loud cacophony of noise began somewhere to their right and Jodi winced. “Sam!” she shouted and then blanched at Rory’s wince. “Oh, honey, I'm sorry. Here, come with me.”

Rory followed Jodi down a small hallway and toward the source of the noise. Jodi swung the door to their left open, poking her head into the room.

“Sam!”

The noise petered out - first the guitar, then the drums, and then the keyboard. “We're in the middle of practice, Mom!” a voice snapped.

“Watch the tone,” she returned, no heat to her warning. “Rory came by to introduce herself. Remember, you're going to help us fix up the farm this weekend?”

“I'm -- what?” the voice asked, sounding exasperated. “There's a show in-”

Jodi tugged Rory into the room and she stumbled, eyes wide, coming face to face with a spiky-haired blonde. He was about her age, maybe a little younger, and his hair was absolutely mind-boggling. She wondered, briefly, how much hair product he went through in a typical day.

The complaint that had been on his lips died immediately, and he blinked at Rory, looking shell-shocked. “Oh. Er. Hi. I didn't realize you were right there.”

Rory bit the inside of her cheek, glancing from Sam to Jodi. “Hi. I'm Rory. Sorry for barging in.”

“No, no, it's, um-”

Two more heads peeked around from a blocked corner of Sam's room. They were both pale, dark-haired, and curious.

“Hi,” Rory said awkwardly.

The girl had dark purple hair and an upper lip ring, but her face was refreshingly cheerful. “Hey! I heard the new girl moved in. Did you come to listen to us play?”

“How would that make sense?” the raven-haired boy asked incredulously. “She doesn't even know who we are, let alone our practice schedule.”

The girl rolled her eyes and smacked the boy, stepping from around the corner to say, “I'm Abigail and that dour face there is Sebastian. Welcome to the most boring town ever created. Hope you like staring at things, ‘cause that's ninety percent of Pelican’s appeal.”

“Abby,” Jodi chided before putting a hand on Rory’s arm. “Did you want to stay for dinner, dear? It's a ways off, but I'm sure the kids would appreciate an audience.”

“Definitely,” Sam said quickly, making Abigail smirk and Sebastian roll his eyes.

All of the eyes on her were quickly making her palms sweat and her heart race. After years of crippling panic attacks, Rory knew the warning signs. “Thanks,” she said quickly, clearing her throat. “But I really need to see if I can make it to Pierre’s before he closes.”

“Next time, then,” Jodi smiled gently, patting her arm. The woman did enjoy touching. It made Rory’s skin crawl in spite of the innocent intent.

“Next time,” she confirmed, offering an awkward wave to the three bandmates watching her curiously. “Later.”

“See you this weekend,” Sam called as she retreated. Rory heard Abigail’s tinkling laugh and Sebastian’s snort before she made it to the door.

The fresh breeze was cold and crisp, not perfumed with lemon cleaning products, and hinted at the snow she'd just missed on her March arrival to the valley. Rory gulped the air, taking advantage of the empty lane to lean against a lamppost and collect herself. Everything was happening so fast - too fast. She was still reeling from the mental break that led to her getting fired. She was still reeling from the bus ride into idyllic Stardew Valley.

As Rory’s breath calmed, she noticed the smell of the ocean and felt the sea breeze attempting to tug her hair out of its messy bun. Pushing off of the post, Rory practically stumbled toward the bridge leading to the beach.

The sand was blindingly white in the late afternoon sun. Rory kicked off her flats, toes curling into the sand. She stared out over the cerulean water, over the breaking waves splashing up against the pier, and finally caught her breath.

The water had always calmed her. It was a side effect of being an empath; that was what her mother used to say, anyway. _A sensitive heart needs something big and constant to focus on; something to soothe the soul._ A load of shit, Rory had always thought, but her mother's words seemed to have more credibility now.  
  
She wandered to the water's edge, the tide flicking over her toes. Rory breathed in the salt, the tremoring in her fingers finally calming. She wanted nothing more than to grab the rowboat against the shack she'd passed and disappear into the shimmering air.

 

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

Elliott finally set his pen down, stretching. It felt as though he had been at the desk for days and, when he checked his clock, he winced. It had been close to four hours since he'd stood; nine since he'd eaten something. Elliott got to his feet and went to the mini-fridge in the corner, glancing in at the empty cooling unit. Of _course_ he had no food; he hadn't been fishing in a week. He hadn't called out for food from Gus in a few days, either. Had it been two weeks since his last grocery trip to Pierre's?

He rolled down his sleeves and shrugged into his jacket, letting out a soft sigh. The last thing Elliott wanted to do on a Thursday night was brave the town square, but he needed food if he planned on staying alive long enough to make his novel a reality.

He had just stepped out of the shack when he was startled to find the beach occupied. At first, he thought it was Leah, one of the only people he saw on the beach in springtime, but it decidedly wasn't. The woman in the waves had pitch-black hair tossed into an unceremonious bun, the water wetting the ankles of her jeans.

He hesitated outside of his door until the wind from his open window dragged the door shut, making it bang against the casing with a loud crack. The woman spun around.

He stood on his doorstep, deliberating, watching the woman regard him warily. She had to be the new girl everyone had been buzzing about - the granddaughter of the kindly old man from Tallulah Farm. He hadn't expected to see her aside from the festivals - her grandfather had been reclusive. Elliott had, for some reason, assumed it would be a family trait.

Elliott hesitantly approached her. With every step, he noticed something. The sharp set to her shoulders, ready to fight. The tension in her legs, ready to run. Her blue eyes, slit in the sunlight and apprehension. “You must be Donald’s granddaughter,” he called to her and stopped far enough back to hopefully set her at ease. “I am Elliott. I live just there.” He motioned behind him, offering her a gentle smile. “I'm fairly new to town, myself.”

The woman’s tense shoulders drooped a little, and she nodded absently. “I'm Rory. Sorry, you startled me.”

“Apologies, it was not my intent,” he continued, taking a few tentative steps closer. She remained calm, but he noticed how her brow furrowed when he came to stand in front of her.

She looked as if she was analyzing him, both intrigued and slightly frustrated by what she found. Finally, she asked, “Why do you live out here?”

He wasn't sure if she meant Pelican Town, the beach, or the shack. “It is quiet here, quieter than in the city. I feel as though I can breathe here by the ocean; more so than in town. I prefer the water and the stillness.”

Rory nodded, wriggling her toes in the lapping tide. Her toenails were painted purple and chipping around the edges. The color sparkled like amethysts through the water. “Me, too. Too bad my granddad didn't farm fish.”

Elliott smiled, glancing out over the water. They stood beside one another silently for longer than Elliott expected; so much longer, in fact, that his stomach began to rumble unpleasantly. “I was heading into town for dinner. Would you like to come along? I am sure you can meet others; the tavern is always busy at this time of the evening.”

Rory scrunched her nose and shook her head. “No, thanks. I'm peopled-out for the day. ” Elliott couldn't help the initial wince at her words - had he offended her with his presence? Rory seemed to catch it and blushed. “No, no, I didn't mean you - you're the first person I've met that hasn't looked at me like a zoo animal. I just… people usually stress me out. I'm not very good at being a human.”

Elliott chuckled, relieved that he had somehow not been one of _those_ people. The gawkers. “Self-care should be your priority.” His stomach protested again, and he grimaced. “Would you like me to bring you something back? My cabin is unlocked if you would like to sit inside."

She waved him off, looking awkward. “I'm fine, thanks. I'm probably going to head back to the farm, anyway.” Elliott wanted to kick himself for being so pushy, but Rory bit her cheek and added, “It was nice to meet you, Elliott.”

“And you, Rory.”

He reluctantly left her on the shore. At least her words had been positive; the last thing Elliott needed was another neighbor who found him off-putting.

By the time he returned to the beach, she had gone, leaving nothing to suggest she had ever been there.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

It was four in the morning when a banging tore Rory from her bed in a sheer panic. She had only just fallen asleep two hours ago, and her brain was a fog of alarm at the rude awakening. Had she locked the door? Was someone trying to get inside?

“Rory!” a feminine voice sing-songed from the porch. “My goodness, that girl can sleep. Must be part of being a city girl. Rory!” More banging, louder this time.

Rory let out a little sigh and stumbled toward the door, throwing it open. She blinked at Jodi and Marnie, bleary-eyed. “What's wrong?” she asked, trying not to sound as dismayed as she felt.

Marnie snorted and pushed into the cabin with a box of what appeared to be doughnuts. “Come on, girl, get in here and get some food. I'm making coffee -- gracious, Rory! Don't you have coffee? Jodi, did you bring-”

“Yep, got it,” Jodi chuckled, patting Rory's arm. “Come on inside before Sam and Shane notice you, nearly naked and lit up like that.”

Rory resisted the urge to cross her arms over her bared stomach, glancing up at the porch light. They were just lucky she wore shorts and a bra to bed, to be honest, and it wasn't as if she'd invited them over in the middle of the night. ”What's going on?” she asked, following them into the expansive kitchen to the left of the door. They were already plugging in the old coffee maker her grandfather had left behind.

Jodi turned, looking confused. “It's Saturday, Rory! Don't tell me you forgot?”

“Well, sure,” Rory mumbled, leaning her hip against the counter. “I'm really glad you guys are helping, I'm not trying to be an ass. I just didn't realize it was happening so... early.”

Marnie chuckled, putting tablespoons of coffee grounds into the machine. “Little city mouse. We don't waste a moment of daylight around here. Gotta get the prep taken care of before dawn so we can get started!”

Rory couldn't argue with that, so she pushed off of the counter and headed toward the bedroom. “I'll be out in a minute.”

 

* * *

 

Rory’s back was aching after three hours of doing mostly nothing. She'd been given a task to scythe errant weeds and grass. She was beginning to feel like someone somewhere in the community had to have a lawnmower or something. Who cut grass with actual scythes? These people had cell phones but not a damned lawnmower?

She wiped her brow, leaning back on her left leg. The sound of axes in the distance made something in her chest stammer. The grove of pines that the men slowly chipped away at felt like home. It felt safe. She wasn't sure why; there was something about it.

“Rory! The Mayor stopped in to see you. Give me that scythe and go talk to Lewis,” Marnie called, shuffling over to take the sickle from her. She tutted. “We've got to muscle these little arms up, Missy. Can't go swinging an ax like this!”

Rory bit her tongue. Everyone here, Marnie and Jodi especially, had been so welcoming. Most of the town had come out to help her clear her land, free of charge. Robin offered her carpentry experience, Marnie her animal knowledge, and Pierre about tending crops. They were oddly welcoming, and it made Rory feel out of place and anxious. It also made her feel incredibly guilty that she overcome with annoyance.

Rory made her way back to the house, weaving through old, rusted vehicles to find Mayor Lewis parking his massive truck beside Marnie’s. In the bed, there was a riding lawnmower. Rory would have tossed her scythe down in absolute annoyance if Marnie hadn't already relieved her of it.

“Rory, how's it going?” Lewis called as he got out of the truck. Rory saw someone getting out of the passenger side, but Lewis’ head blocked her view as he came up to her.

Rory forced a half-hearted smile. “It's going well enough,” she murmured, dragging her gloves off of her fingers and tucking them into a back pocket of her shorts. “Quickly learning I'm not cut out for lawn care, though.”

Lewis laughed a clapped her shoulder, nearly making her stumble. He was strong for an old man. “We'll get you there. Some time on this farm, you'll be tougher than most of us.”

Rory missed the last bit because her eyes were drawn around to the passenger of Lewis’ truck. It had been Elliott, the man by the ocean, and he was now standing respectfully back from them, just around the hood. His eyes had already been on her and, when she turned her attention his way, he didn't falter or look away. He smiled softly, entirely at ease under her scrutiny. She blushed under the intense weight of his emerald gaze.

“Rory?”

Rory turned back to Lewis, blinking rapidly. “Sorry, sorry. Um… yes, Jodi brought lunch stuff up. I can start working on that - oh, are there any diet restrictions, or…?”

Lewis laughed as if she was making a joke and clapped her shoulder again before springing into action, dropping the truck bed and wheeling out a metal ramp to get the lawnmower out.

Elliott cleared his throat, drawing Rory's attention back. He was very quiet on his feet; he'd appeared at her side without her even noticing. “Do not take it personally. The locals’ main staple is beef, pork, and wheat. Diet restrictions are something of a joke here.” When she didn't smile or respond, he added, “I can help you in the kitchen, if you would like. Preparing so much food unassisted cannot be easy.”

Rory furrowed her brow at him. His arms, visible under a rolled-up flannel, were lean and muscled. His white tee-shirt wasn't tight, but Rory could see his abdomen pressing against the thin cotton. No six-pack abs or anything, but there was decided definition there. Rory tore her eyes from him, feeling guilty for analyzing his body so obviously. "You'd rather be in the kitchen with me than stripping your shirt off and letting the world see all those glistening muscles?” The words were more biting than she intended. She hadn't tried to joke in a long time; it felt like jagged rocks in her mouth.

To her surprise, Elliott laughed, his eyes going past her. When she turned, she found the local _boys-her-age_ stripped off their shirts, skins slick and glittering even in the distance. _Saved by the predictable male ego,_ she breathed internally before turning back to Elliott.

“In spite of what you might think, I am much better with my fingers than my hands.”

Rory reddened, surprised, and looked away from him quickly. The flush that crept up his neck confirmed he hadn't meant the dirty, but not entirely appalling, innuendo. Rory cleared her throat for what felt like the millionth time. “Um, I think I have lunch taken care of. There's, um… there's something over at the barn, some type of helping Robin thing. If you wanted to stay,” she added quickly. He was dressed casually, so she had assumed he was planning on it - but that had been before she had taken things down a strange road.

“Of course, I will offer my assistance there.” He granted her one last smile, his neck still a dusky pink, before heading across the small field between the barn and house.

Rory let out a sigh, trying to relax her tense shoulders. She glanced back toward the treeline, the uneasy feeling in her stomach intensifying. It could have just been all of the shirtless men working on her land. _Single_ shirtless men, as has been made abundantly clear by the older women of the community, Rory realized with a sinking feeling.

That was why everyone was thrilled to welcome her; another young person to carry on the dying legacy of their community. Naturally, that included getting married, popping out babies, and settling down in Pelican Town forever.

Rory snorted. As if there was any way that would happen. _You needed a break and this is just a fallback,_ Rory reminded herself, but her stomach flipped over in anxiousness.

* * *

Elliott

* * *

 He had removed his flannel but left his t-shirt on, remembering Rory’s amused annoyance at the other men's lack of dress. Even so, he was quite sure he couldn't help the glistening; swinging an ax around in the bright spring sun made that impossible. Robin hadn’t needed any more assistance, so he had joined the others in the trees. His hair had dampened and begun to frizz almost immediately, so he had tossed it back into a messy bun. He wouldn't trade his hair for much, but it had never held up to heat well. The warmer months were always the worst.

“So,” Sam panted between swings of his ax against the thick sapling he was chopping. “What's the new girl's story? Doesn't seem like the farm type.”

“No shit,” Sebastian laughed breathlessly. “She's probably on the lam.”

“For what, tipping over a coffee stand? Stealing a pair of sunglasses?” Shane muttered. He was half-heartedly kicking at a slender slip of a tree shooting up through the overgrowth.

“Damn, dude,” Sam grunted. “What's your issue? You can't stop being a dick for a minute?”

Before Shane could respond, Sam interrupted, “Hey, you're Elliott, right?” When Elliott glanced up, Sam grinned. “Hey. So, you know her? Grow up together or something?”

It took a lot of strength for Elliott not to laugh. Had they grown up together? “I am afraid not. I only met her this week.”

Sam made a noise of disquiet, returning to his task. “Too bad. Kinda hoped you had some secret to her heart or something,” he laughed, making Shane and Sebastian groan. “What? She's nice!”

“You said maybe four words to her,” Sebastian sneered. “You _did_ keep singing about blue eyes the rest of practice, though.”

“Damn, dude,” Shane snorted.

Sam rolled his eyes, swinging again. “Whatever.”

“Hey, did you hear anything from your dad yet?” Shane asked suddenly, all talk about their newest neighbor seemingly forgotten. “How are things going out there? As bad as the news says?”

Sam didn't answer for a moment. “Not sure. Dad keeps quiet about that in his letters. Mom's been crying more lately, so… I don't know.”

The group fell into silence, the only noise from the snicker-snack of ax blades digging into soft, thin bark.

 _“Yoba,_ we haven't even gotten to the big trees yet,” Sebastian groaned, wiping a gloved hand over his forehead. Through the small thicket of saplings, the large pines stood tall and grandiose, forming a seemingly impenetrable barrier. “We're never gonna clear this land.”

“Like, _ever._ I don't even think these axes are going to make a dent on those,” Sam confirmed.

It was about that time when a shout shattered them out of their contemplation.

“ _Wait!"_ a cry broke through the empty air. "Don't cut those!”

They all turned as one to find Rory running toward them, strands of ink-dark hair slipping from her ponytail as she ran. Sam stood up straighter, posturing, and Elliott caught Sebastian even brushing a hand through his hair. Elliott let the ax head strike the dirt, waiting for her to reach them. When she did, she was breathless. “Don't - cut - those,” she gasped, leaning forward the rest her weight on her knees.

“Is this where you hide the bodies?” Shane drawled, shouldering his ax and watching her, seeming bored. It could have sounded like a good-spirited joke had it not dripped with disdain.

Rory didn't seem to hear as she righted herself. She pushed past them, wandering into the thicket. She disappeared through the screen of pines and Elliott, for some unknown reason, felt terror pickle his heart. What was back there?

He followed her, jogging to catch up. It didn't take long; the screen of pines was thinner than he thought and he came into a clearing - or, rather, an almost-clearing.

“The Orchard,” she breathed reverently. She turned wide, astonished eyes onto Elliott. “I thought it was a dream, a place I made up. But it was real. It was right here.” She stepped shakily toward the nearest tree, thick and heavy with ripe apricots. Elliott watched her stroke the bark lovingly, nails gently scraping the wood. Her face raised to the fruit-laden branches, her mouth drawn into a disbelieving smile. “Our secret. I'd forgotten, but...”

Elliott watched her as her loose tank top flitted in the wind, the stray hairs around her face flicking across her collarbone. He watched her smile for the first time, the open delight so startling and refreshing that all Elliott could focus on was her ruddy lips.

Elliott knew what the others knew. She was beautiful. But she was also different. There was something vulnerable and sweet there, a childlike wonder she tried to hide. Her jaded persona hid something soft and delicate.

He wondered if she even knew how bewitching she was.

She turned back to look at him; her smile was breathtaking and awkward as if she wasn't sure how to smile or how to stop. “I wasn't crazy. It was real. I had this when I was little. I had this.”

Elliott didn't understand her words, but he didn't need to; it wasn't his journey. He returned her smile, eyes sliding to the rows and rows of trees, the overripe fruit fermenting on the ground, and the ones still on the branches. "You still have this, Rory. It is right here, all yours."

She let out a small breath, palm flattening against the tree. "So it is."

* * *

  **Rory**

* * *

Monday dawned cold and bright. Rory pulled herself out of bed, grumbling as she did, and stumbled to her dresser. She'd finally put her clothing away and tossed her suitcases into the closet. Her toiletries were in the bathroom, her perfumes and face ointments, cosmetics and lotions lined up like tiny soldiers on one of the only things she'd shipped from Zuzu City - her vanity, a solid cherry-oak antique her mother had passed down to Rory. Rory tried not to think of her mother, about the fever that took her so suddenly, but the raw hurt still clamped her chest when it slipped through.

Rory dressed quickly - a pair of jeans and a tank top, her hair thrown up in a ponytail - before drinking a protein shake and sliding out the door. The crisp morning air was wet with dew, and her boots were quickly collecting water. She needed to buy more appropriate farm attire, it seemed.

Rory grabbed the wheelbarrow Robin gave her as a welcoming gift and began the trek across the mostly-cleared land toward the orchard. She had to admit, the air here was fresh and clean, something which she was unused to but infinitely grateful for. If only she could sleep in the quiet; the nightly hum of insects was somehow too peaceful. The city was loud and drowned out the anxiousness in her brain; there was no such thing in Pelican Town. The dark circles under her eyes, which had always been there, were beginning to deepen. She didn't look at herself for too long in the mirror. She'd gotten thin, sallow, hollow. It had started in Zuzu City and followed her to the valley like a plague.

She wouldn't let it win. She was done sitting around and feeling sorry for herself all day. She could save that for the evenings with snacks and a bottle of wine like everyone else.

She worked long into the day, grappling with her ladder and attempting to pick apricots without tipping over and dying. She had only finished with four trees by the time the sun began to wane. Rory cursed hotly, clamoring down the ladder and grabbing the full wheelbarrow with shaking hands. She began to push the heavy metal trough toward town, praying that she wouldn't be too late.

She reached Pierre’s just as he was closing the shop. He took one look at her and grimaced, opening the door. “Looks like you've been busy, Rory. Come on over, let me take a look at them.”

Rory pushed the wheelbarrow in and toward the cash register. Pierre glanced over the fruit, analyzing, before nodding. “They look good, Rory. A little ripe, we'll have to sell them at a discount to get them out before they spoil. If you're okay with taking the hit-”

“Sure, sure,” Rory said quickly, taking a deep gulp of air, very conscious that she was dripping with sweat and probably smelled like a wet dog. “Can I bring more tomorrow?”

Pierre frowned at her. “Are you planning on wheeling fruit up the lane daily?” At her blank stare, he elaborated, “I mean, perhaps we could find a better mode of transportation. A truck, perhaps? I don't mind, of course, but pushing all of that from your farm to here? It seems unnecessarily dangerous.”

Rory nodded, worrying her lower lip. “Yeah, maybe.”

Pierre smiled worriedly and went behind the counter to make calculations. He finally nodded and held a hand up. “Let me get it from the safe. I'll be right back. You could start putting these in that empty display,” he said as he left.

Rory did as asked, slowly and carefully stacking apricots. It was a soothing rhythm, one that allowed her to disengage, her mind wandering. She kept thinking of the ocean, the thick waves crashing against the shore.

“Rory, hey.” Rory turned quickly to find the purple-haired girl, Abigail, watching her from the doorway Pierre had gone through. “Heard Dad saying you brought in some stuff by way of a cart?” she grinned, but it wasn't mocking. “Badass. Hey, do you play any instruments? Like, bass or something?”

Rory blinked, trying to keep up. “Um… no. I don't play anything.” She hesitated, not liking where the conversation was going; even so, she added, “I sang a little in middle school, but nothing major.”

Abigail’s eyes widened, as did her smile. “That's fantastic! You should come to the saloon Friday, let us hear something. We've been thinking about getting some vocals added to the band. Sam is okay, but it'd be cool to have another girl.”

“Oh, I'm not band material,” Rory attempted quickly. "When I say I _sang in middle school,_ I mean I didn't choose an elective soon enough and got stuck with chorus."

Another woman popped her head around the corner, raising her brow. “What's going on out here? Dinner’s getting cold!”

“Mom, this is Rory. Rory, my mom, Caroline.”

Rory waved awkwardly. “Hi.”

Caroline flushed and stepped into the storefront, giving Rory a horrified once-over. “Oh, honey, you look awful!”

“Mom!”

Rory tried to laugh it off, but it stung a little. “Sorry, time slipped away on me, so I came straight here from the orchard.”

Caroline was distracted for a moment by the apricots. “Oh my,” she murmured appreciatively. “Oh I wish I'd had these earlier, I would have made you a cobbler!”

Pierre returned with Rory's payment, which Rory put into her wallet without checking. She deflected Caroline's request for Rory to stay for dinner, promised Abigail she'd come to the saloon Friday, and then retreated with her wheelbarrow.

When she got home, shaking from exhaustion and exertion, she finally counted out the gold notes in her wallet. 2,000. She wheezed past her suddenly restricted throat and grabbed her counter, trying to breathe. She'd never had that much money in her hands at one time. She'd never been anything above poverty, paying astronomically high rent and binging on fruit-flavored vodka drinks to forget the soul-crushing self-loathing within her. To forget her loneliness.

Rory sank down to the ground, her head falling to her knees, arms curling around them. She huddled like that, remembering that she was still alone. She still despised herself. The only difference now was money and a decided lack of booze.

 _Get up and make a plan,_ her mind goaded gently. _You're stronger than this. Maybe not right now, but you can be._

Rory got to her feet and wiped her eyes, setting her jaw. Things weren't going to get better until she made them - so, she decided then and there, that is what she would do.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

It had been two weeks since Rory arrived in Pelican Town. She was evidently taking to the orchard like a natural according to other townsfolk who had encountered her. Even so, Elliott heard from Leah that Caroline seemed concerned about the girl.

“She still hasn't come to the saloon, even though Abigail keeps asking her to. She's been up there on that farm working herself to death, then lugging fruit to Pierre's in a wheelbarrow. _A wheelbarrow,_ Elliott! It's a four-mile trek! How she hasn't killed herself yet on that dirt road, I will never know.”

The words had worried Elliott, though he knew they shouldn't. He didn't know Rory very well and, in spite of feeling like there was some kind of connection between them, he knew very little about her. She seemed to like her privacy. Who was he to impose?

“Do you think it might help matters if I were to stop in on her?” his mouth said while his brain screamed at him for it. What was he doing? Hadn't he just decided not to-

“That's sweet, but she might benefit from another woman,” Leah chuckled. “Don't you worry about a thing, I'll get her squared away and social if it's the last thing I do!”

Elliott watched Leah wink and walk away, a swing to her hips as she did. Elliott sighed, running a hand through his hair, and glancing out over the Cindersaps. He had been aching for a reason to see Rory again. His book had ground to a halt before he'd even managed to get far into it - the words had just stopped. The main character was flat, his intentions bordering on laughable. The love interest was bland, one-dimensional, made of nothing more than smoke and sand.

Elliott looked down into the river, watching it lazily stretch out into the forest.

He didn't know what he wanted, but he knew he had to see her again. Soon.

 

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory was finally getting used to the strange hours. She was up before the sun most mornings, and it had only taken two weeks of Marnie and Robin’s dawn wakeup calls to make the scheduling stick.

It certainly helped that Rory now was the proud owner of a coop and barn full of chickens, a rooster, three cows, one sheep, and a horse. It was infinitely more than Roy had wanted to be responsible for, but Marnie was a pro when it came to guilt-trips. _Well, alright, but you'd be doing me the biggest favor by taking them off my hands. Shane doesn't help as much as he used to, so fewer animals would be Yoba-sent._

So, against her better judgment, Rory had taken in the animals, paid for their feed, and wept every night from the sheer weight of her sudden responsibilities. Something about the routine was calming to her, though, and the animals filled the dark morning hours when she couldn't be on a ladder grappling with fruit.

Rory made a single serving of coffee, strong and fragrant, and sipped it while changing out of her pajamas. She still hadn't bought proper work clothing, so her jeans, tank tops, and hoodies had to work. She had purchased a pair of thick-soled boots from Marnie, though, which made her feel like less of a failure.

She finished her coffee and yawned, making her way into the crisp, pre-dawn air outside. She first meandered toward the coop, the clucking hens sleepy and disgruntled. The rooster hadn't gotten up yet, either, still dozing in his private enclosure beside the fence. “Morning, Rufus,” she greeted him softly. She moved behind the coop, sliding the back panels aside and, one-by-one, lifted eggs from the nests. A few of the hens still hadn't warmed to her and would cluck and try to peck, but Rory had gotten used to their tactics rather quickly. Most mornings, she was able to get her hands free without a single injury. _Most_ mornings.

The hens were the easy job, but somehow the most annoying. Rory set her clutch of eggs in the house before heading to the stable. She fed and watered Josie, brushing her down and then letting her into the massive grazing corral. Rory watched her for a time, feeling guilty that she was all alone out there, frolicking by herself. Rory knew the feeling. She was beginning to think very seriously of asking Marnie for a second horse once she had enough funds to do so.

The dawn was just beginning to blush the horizon, Rufus starting his craggy crows, when Rory finally dragged herself to the barn. She quickly fed the cows and sheep, refilling the water trough, and then pulled one of the heifers to the milking station. “Good girl,” she soothed running a hand along the Jersey’s flank. She settled herself on the stool and pressed her cheek against the animal's swollen belly, milking while thinking about the sea.

She was almost finished with the final cow, a temperamental Holstein, when the small side-door opened. Rory’s heart stuttered, and she nearly kicked over the milk pail at her feet as she got up quickly. Helene, the cow, stamped her foot and let out a low _moo_ in annoyance at their noisy newcomer.

It was only Elliott. Rory let out a rattling sigh and smoothed a hand over Helene. “Shh, it's alright,” she cooed before glancing over the cow's back toward Elliott. “Hey.”

Elliott’s smile was just as gentle and soul-warming as it had been the last two times she'd seen him. The way he looked at her made her slightly uncomfortable - not in a bad way, which made it all the more difficult to understand. “Rory, hello. I am sorry for interrupting, but Marnie insisted I come see you about fresh eggs and milk. She ran dry before I could tear myself away from my home last night.”

“Oh, um, sure,” she replied, confused. Marnie had three times the production that Rory did, and she was much more efficient about the whole thing. There was no way she managed to run out unless another Egg Festival was happening. “Let me finish with Helene first. Um… the cabin is open if you want to sit.” The conversation was eerily familiar - hadn't he said a similar thing to her on the beach when they first met?

“If it does not bother you, I think I would like to stay here,” he murmured, already moving toward the sheep, Freddie, who was absently munching hay and watching the newcomer with dead-eyed apathy.

Rory settled herself on the stool and pressed her cheek against the cow’s side, returning to her work. From her angle, she had a perfect view of Elliott and his oddly regal clothing. She watched as he moved between the nearest animals, murmuring softly and petting with an uneasy hand that suggested he wasn’t used to animals. She smiled faintly, eyes closing briefly. Her entire life, aside from living on her own, had been full of animals - when she was little, she would play with her grandfather’s pony and sheep. She and her mother had chickens. Her aunt, who she lived with after her mother's death, had dogs and horses.

When she opened her eyes, she found Elliott watching her. She surprised herself by offering him her best attempt at a smile, which he returned before returning to the task of greeting each member of her livestock family.

When she finished with Helene, she opened the barn doors for the animals to amble outside. Rory stooped to pick up two of the full milk-pails, wincing at their weight. Lewis was right - she wasn't going to stay scrawny for long. “Could you grab these two?” she asked, not wanting to put Elliott out but knowing he wouldn’t mind. Elliott almost reminded Rory of her favorite dog growing up - a loyal, sweet golden retriever. The dog was a people-pleaser, through and through. Elliott gave off the same impression.

She kicked into the cabin, thankful she’d left the door ajar for just that reason - otherwise, she would have ended up face-first against the wood, covered in spilled milk. Expensive spilled milk.

She unloaded the pails onto the countertop and flipped the light switch, filling the kitchen and part of the living area with dull, yellowed light. Elliott entered and put his pails down beside hers, his hip bumping her as he did. Elliott took a moment to look around him, not bothering to move away from her. Rory found her own feet planted, using his distraction to study the sharp edge of his jaw and high cheekbones. He looked like something the movies pretended ancient nobility looked like, all angles and silken hair.

Elliott finally looked down at her, so close that a stout breeze could have forced them together. A delightfully delicate pink color rose to his cheeks; his smile was half charming and half embarrassed. He didn’t move back, though, and murmured, “I should get back to town-”

Rory bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to smirk. “Didn’t you need milk and eggs?”

His blush darkened, and the grace was slowly morphing into a decided fluster. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

Rory turned to the basket of eggs and went about washing them. She could feel Elliott’s eyes on her from where he was still loitering by the counter. She hummed to distract herself and keep her hands from trembling. Rory wasn’t sure if there was actually something about him that electrified the air, or if she was simply that starved for human contact. Perhaps the tension she was feeling in her shoulders was nothing more than loneliness attempting to quell itself. Perhaps her desire to talk to him in long, discursive sentences was just her way of selfishly refilling a long-empty void.

She cleared her throat and carefully wrapped twelve eggs in cheesecloth. “Did you bring a basket, or do you want one of mine?” she called over the running water, rinsing the other speckled, brown eggs.

“I am afraid I don’t have one,” he admitted, sounding more sheepish by the minute.

Rory finished with the eggs, placing her clutch in a fresh basket to take to Pierre’s. She found her backup, a small wicker one, under the sink and rinsed it off. When she turned back to Elliott, he was fiddling with his hands. “Breakfast?”

His confusion visibly mounted. “I'm sorry?”

She leaned back on her hip, crossing her arms under her breasts. “I’m about to make breakfast. Do you want some? Sample the wares before you buy?”

“There is no need to sample, I trust they are perfect,” was his exasperatingly awkward response.

Rory checked the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you want to have breakfast with me or not?”

Elliott blinked at her, seemingly taken aback. Rory could have kicked herself; she had forgotten how to talk to people - the constant bullshit made her uneasy and edgy. She never meant to lash out like a total bitch, but somehow she couldn’t seem to filter it out. Even with people she desperately wanted to know better, to draw in, to spend time with. She missed people. She didn’t want to, but she did anyway.

“I would like that,” Elliott replied finally, swallowing and glancing around them. “Do you - that is to say… how can I help?”

Rory thought about telling him to sit down and relax, but instead, she said, “Coffee. There are grounds there above the maker. And make it strong.”

Elliott grinned, some of his easy elegance returning, and went about his task with enthusiasm. Rory tried not to let her imagination get the best of her, but when he moved to the tap to get water, his arm brushed hers. It was casual, definitely accidental, but the hair on her arms stood up, and a shiver passed through her with enough force to nearly drop the egg she was about to crack. Elliott turned his beautiful eyes to her, curious, and she could only sputter out, “Just a chill, sorry,” while pretending not to have the oddest crush of her life.

And a crush it was, she realized quite forcefully as she cracked and whisked eggs. Nothing more than a crush. He was the only one in Pelican Town who wasn’t posturing for her attention, the only one who offered her kindness and quiet. He was like the ocean; always there, always waiting, comforting without needing anything from her.

She tossed the eggs with spices and a dash of milk before pouring them into a hot pan. By that time, the coffee was slowly spitting out of the machine and Elliott was waiting for his next order. “Bottom drawer of the fridge, there’s some wax-sealed bacon. Grab it and put it in,” she nodded toward the frying pan beside her on the stove, already warmed.

Elliott did as asked and came to stand beside her at the range. His arm brushed hers again as he laid the bacon out on the pan. She was prepared for it this time and was able to bite her tongue past the urge to shudder. She would have thought he had a livewire in his jacket, but, from the feel of it, there was very little separating their skins from one another.

The room was getting warm - either from the ancient oven or their proximity, she wasn’t sure. Rory stepped away from the stove to pull her hoodie over her head, tossing it on a chair back. She tugged her camisole back down into place and strode to the cooker, quickly breaking the eggs up into large, fluffy pieces. She pretended she couldn’t see Elliott out of the corner of her eye. She pretended that she wasn’t analyzing his every move to see if any of her tension was felt on his end.

But he was unflappable as he flipped bacon, his gaze seeming far-off. Rory tried not to let the inattention sting; she knew she was being a child, too wrapped up in wanting to be liked, wanting to be loved, to handle herself like an adult.

She cleared her throat and washed her hands before grabbing plates and loading them down with eggs. Elliott dabbed the bacon off before setting the strips beside the mounds of pale yellow fluff. Rory secured glasses of water, mugs of coffee, and a small cup of the milk for Elliott to try before sitting at the table, motioning for Elliott to join her.

Which he did, but only after pushing her chair in for her. It took every ounce of decency she had for Rory to keep her jaw from dropping. _What century does this guy think he’s from?_ She watched him eat for a moment before finally saying, “So, what’s your story? You said you moved here a bit ago. What brought you? And no bullshit answers about quiet. There’s quiet in a million different places around here. Why Pelican Town?”

Elliott watched her for a few moments, his eyes gently holding hers as he sipped his coffee. Finally, he put his mug down and replied, “I grew up in Zuzu City. Pelican Town is the most affordable location that is close. I came here because I had the means, and I could be on the ocean, undisturbed. I came here to write a novel.”

He was holding out on her; he was a poor liar, it seemed. “And?”

His smile widened slightly, but it was still sad. “And I desired to escape my parents’ influence.”  
  
Ah, and there it was - the emotional baggage. It was refreshing to know Elliott had some, that he wasn’t a perfect god sent down to torment her. She thought about expanding on it, but the seconds stretched out, and she lost the nerve that had filled her veins just moments before. “You said you’re writing a novel?”

“I am trying,” he confirmed with a soft sigh, setting his coffee down and tearing into the bacon. He finished chewing before continuing, ever polite. “Your arrival seemed to herald the death of my Muse.”

“Sorry about that,” she chuckled, sipping water. “How can I make it up to you and your Muse?”

His smile twitched and the skin beside his eyes crinkled in amusement. His prior unease had melted, and Rory was surprised by how young he looked. He was probably a few years older than her, perhaps more, but for a moment he looked almost childlike. “Well, I suppose if you do not know how to call her back, the next best thing would be to take her place.”

Rory was sure the awful lighting would hide her blush, but his smile grew, and she knew that it didn’t. “What would Rory the Muse be in charge of?”

“Inspiration, of course,” he replied as if it was obvious. “For your first task - what type of novel do you like best?”

Rory thought about it, taking a bit to nibble on her breakfast. “I suppose mystery. I like good sci-fi, too, but I’m kind of picky about it.”

Elliott regarded her, his gaze seeming to slide through her as he thought. “A mystery. It will be a bold move for a first novel, but I think it might be worth it.” He ran his thumb under his lower lip absently; Rory found herself following the motion, watching how his skin moved. “Murder, intrigue, romance.”

Rory was lurched out of her downward spiral of infatuation by a firm rap on her door. She bolted out of the chair as if caught in a compromising position. Elliott raised an eyebrow, also getting to his feet. “Were you expecting someone?” he asked, moving between her and the door. His smile was gone; he was suddenly protective, on guard.

“I… no, I don’t-”

“Rory? It’s Sam!”

Rory groaned and ran a hand over her face. “Shit, I forgot. Elliott, hold on a minute.” She walked around him to open the door, standing in the doorway, leaned against the door jam. “Sam, sorry, I forgot you guys were coming out today.”

“No worries. Mom said you need some help in the orchard?”

Rory worried her lower lip. Sam looked wide-awake and eager in spite of Jodi saying he was rarely up before 10 am. “Yeah, um… I think Jodi and I settled on 400 a day for now, more if I expand the ranch. Same for Sebastian. Does that work?”

“Definitely, it’s a great deal for 4 hours of work,” he laughed, shifting on his feet. “So, we’re gonna take the truck down there to the orchard if that’s cool. Got some open casks to transport everything to Pierre’s.”

“Thanks, Sam, you guys are lifesavers.”

“Sure,” Sam grinned, glancing into the house. His face fell a little before he stepped off the porch nodding. “Alright, we’ll get to work. See you in four hours.”

Rory waved a quick goodbye before shutting the door and turning to Elliott. He hadn’t stepped too far into the door’s line of sight, but it had evidently been enough for Sam to become crestfallen. She leaned against the door, crossing her arms under her chest. “You might have just scared off my cheap labor.”

Elliott looked confused. “I’m sorry?”

She pushed off of the door and went back to her breakfast, now cold but still delicious. She tucked in quickly, finishing her eggs before adding, “I’m not dumb, I know why Sam and Sebastian are so gung-ho to help me out around here. Jodi’s all but confirmed there’s some kind of race to see who I’ll fall into bed with. Or marriage. Do people have sex before marriage around here? Either way,” she waved her hand, dismissing the prior tangent. “I’m not much more than fresh blood. I’m sure you were when you showed up, too.”

Elliott didn’t deny it, though he looked skeptical as he returned to his chair. “Though it is a likely scenario, Rory, I doubt that is the only reason. You are delightful. Bed, marriage, or no, anyone here would be a fool not to get to know you.”

“You don’t even know me,” she chuckled, tearing apart her bacon. “How can you be so sure about me, about anything, when you’ve just met me? I might be a murderer on the run.”

Elliott didn’t hesitate. “I am a rather good judge of character. And we might not know much about one another yet, but this is how we begin.” He raised his coffee cup in a salute. “To us.”

Rory wasn’t sure if it was his seemingly endless flow of words, or his gentle smile, or the old-world charm oozing from his pores, but something about him turned her into putty. She would have followed him onto a boat with no destination at the current rate. “To us,” she repeated, clinking her mug with his.


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

In spite of their pledge, _To Us,_ they had not seen one another for another three weeks. Elliott was planning a trip up to the farm under the guise of more eggs and milk when he glanced out his window to find Rory on the dock, hauling a large net out of the water.

He watched her for a few moments, hidden from view, and admired how the harsh wind tugged her hair free of her ponytail, making it swirl around her in a vortex. Elliott was always amazed at how ethereal she looked against the backdrop of the sea.

Elliott finally tore himself from his thoughts and left the cabin, not bothering with his jacket or rolling down his sleeves. Jogging toward her, he called out her name. She didn’t even glance up from where she was still hefting the line, grunting. When he drew close, Rory spared him a glance. “Took you long enough. Help me.”

He grabbed the rope and yanked it, the heavy mass of netting scraping across the wooden planks. Rory shook out a massive gunny while poking the net around, surveying the haul. She whistled, pleased, before turning her eyes to Elliot. “Think you can spare a minute to help me with these? Or... an hour?”

Elliott didn’t need to answer, it seemed, because she opened the bag expectantly, waiting, her sapphire eyes centered directly on his face.

Elliott tore himself away from her gaze and tossed the netting apart as best as he could, gingerly hefting slippery fish and dodging lobster claws. Rory joined him at the net after a short beat, catching her breath. They picked through the bounty, tossing the small seafoods back into the water while hoarding the annoyed, pinchy crustaceans and more substantial fish.

Elliott helped her with the crab pots she'd scattered across the east end of the beach, the gunny sack half-full and nearly immovable by the time they finished. “I’m not sure if I can get this to Gus before it starts raining,” Rory admitted with a grimace, wiping sweat from her brow.

“No need to ask, I would be honored to help,” Elliott teased, enjoying the way she scrunched her nose at him when he did. “Are we ready?”

Rory grabbed one side of the sack and Elliott the other, lugging it toward town. They didn’t speak until they made it into the bar, Gus ushering them into the back to glance over the wares. “Anything you’re wanting to keep, Rory?” he asked pleasantly, poking through the squirming mess of sea fare.

Rory glanced at Elliott. “Do you like lobster?”

“I love lobster,” he confirmed, heart speeding up. Was she planning on asking him to dinner?

“Two lobsters and four crabs, please,” she requested, passing the sack to Gus. She grinned over at Elliott. “Hopefully you’re fine with payment in seafood.”

Before Elliott could say anything, Gus pressed, “So, Rory, you going to the Flower Dance tomorrow? I heard Sam was planning to ask you for a dance or two.”

Elliott tried not to make it obvious that his shoulders had squared at the words. He had expected it, of course; as Rory said, she was the shiny new toy in Stardew Valley. Even so, it made Elliott’s palms itch to think about it.

Rory cleared her throat and shifted her weight. “Actually, I wasn’t planning on going. Lots to do around the orchard.”

Gus frowned at her, and then Elliott, before shrugging. “Alright. I think it would be nice for you to come by. We forget you’re up there all by yourself on that farm sometimes, but we’re all worried about you. We’re a safe enough town, missy, but the world is a scary place.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” was her polite, if clipped, reply.

Gus knew he was toeing the line between helpful and offensive and backed off. “I’ll grab your payment, Rory, one minute.”

One he had retreated into a back room, Rory rolled her eyes toward Elliott. “Yoba protect the poor, defenseless city mouse. The way you hear these people talk, you’d think I had been living in a gilded cage, not fighting off muggings in my own apartment building.”

Elliott’s eyes widened, appalled. “You fought attackers regularly, then?”

Rory snorted, fixing her ponytail. “At least once a week. I lived as I worked; alone and beset on all sides by alcohol and handsy men.”

Gus returned with her money and much lighter bag. Rory said goodbye to Gus while stuffing the notes into her wallet and shouldering her sack. Elliott didn't immediately turn to follow her so she impatiently took his shirtsleeve between two of her fingers, gently tugging him toward the door. She swung the creaking wood open but came to a sudden stop, her face falling. “Shit.”

The rain had arrived, it seemed. The dark clouds had rolled in on a sharp wind and rain was beginning to tap on the pavers, getting heavier each second. A streak of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder, illuminated the sky and shook the building. Rory closed the door again, and they stood in the bar, Rory worrying her lower lip. “That was cartoonishly dramatic."

Elliott couldn't help but chuckle, missing some of what she was saying until she looked at him. "Okay, I have a lobster and two crabs for you. We can make it back to your shack and then I can head home-”

“You cannot walk to the farm like this,” Elliott argued. “Four miles - five from my shack! - in the middle of a thunderstorm? I cannot abide it.”

Rory groaned and Gus, seeming to have heard the conversation, called, “You can borrow my truck if you want, Rory. Just bring it by the dance tomorrow!”

Rory muttered under her breath, looking up at Elliott. He smiled and nodded, and she grumbled. “Thanks, Gus. I promise I won’t crash it too often.”

Gus only laughed, tossing her his keys. “Be safe, Rory. Elliott, make sure she doesn’t actually crash the truck, alright?”

Elliott nodded to him and opened the door for Rory who disappeared into the thick rain. It was hard to keep up with her, somehow, as she weaved toward the parking lot behind the bar. The only truck there was Gus’, a rusty red. They climbed in and Rory started it up, turning the radio off. They idled there for a moment, the heater trying to get warm as it gusted cold, foul-smelling air at them. Rory turned the heater off and cleared her throat. “So, I guess I’ll drop you off first...?”

“You made me breakfast,” Elliott began slowly, testing the waters, “so what if I were to make you dinner tonight? Lobster bisque, perhaps? And hot crab cakes are always nice on cold, rainy nights.”

Rory’s lips twitched into a barely-withheld smile and she started the truck up. “My place?”

“As long as you do not mind sharing your kitchen with me again?”

Rory didn’t answer; she didn’t need to. She shifted into gear, and they lurched out of the parking lot, driving out of town and toward her farm.

 

* * *

**Rory**  


* * *

 

Before Elliott could get started on dinner, Rory tossed him a towel to dry off as best as he could. He refused a shower, but she, being a wimp, had not. The heat barely registered as the water pounded across her frozen back. It took at least thirty minutes for her to feel warm again, and by that time, the hot water was running out.

When she returned to the kitchen, Elliott had stripped off his shirt, the towel slung around the back of his neck, trapping his long hair from frizzing out around his face. Rory hesitated in the doorway between the living room and her bedroom, watching his back. She had been right; he was toned. It was odd to think someone with a body like that chose to hide it under layers of outdated, albeit posh, clothing.

Rory padded into the kitchen on her bare feet. She wasn’t sure if Elliott was undressing in her kitchen to tempt her or not, but her choice of cloth shorts and a fitted cami had certainly been premeditated. With the others in town, it was simple to see what they thought of her. It was much more difficult with Elliott. It was almost infuriating how kind he was, how unhurried… how unaffected.

When he looked up at her, his eyes hesitated on her thighs and then her chest before sliding up to her face. He looked vaguely guilty, a blush coloring his neck, but Rory ignored it; she didn’t want her moment of victory to embarrass him. “How can I help?” she asked. She allowed her own eyes to wander before slowly raising to his. His blush had darkened, but he looked infinitely less concerned about his own staring.

“I… I can take care of this,” he said quickly, grabbing his wet shirt from the back of a chair, trying to shrug the cloth on. “Just give me one moment-”

“You are not putting that back on,” she laughed. “I might have a big tee if you want it. I just figured the fire is going, it's kind of warm already, you’re going to be in front of the stove….” It was bullshit she’d pulled from the air, but it was _feasible_ bullshit.

Elliott hesitated for a moment before pulling the shirt off and placing it on the chair again. Rory kept taking quick peeks of his tapered waist and his hip bones, the light trail of tawny curls from his chest to the hem of his slacks. She almost told him to take those off, too, before she remembered herself. She wasn’t a drunk Joja drone anymore; she couldn’t get laid by asking people to get naked. She supposed she _could,_ but that was one of the many bad habits she was trying to shake.

But it was so hard to remember as she sat at the table and watched him move around the kitchen. It only took a few minutes for her to grow anxious in the silence, so she retreated to her bedroom to grab her laptop. She lugged it into the kitchen and set it up on an unused corner of the counter, clicking through her playlists and selecting a dark, lovely mix. She turned the speakers up a bit before ducking under her sink to grab two of the many bottles of wine she’d bought from Gus a week before. “Which goes with lobster, red or white?”

“White, chardonnay if you have it,” he replied.

She switched out the bottles and finally procured two chardonnays. Rory carried the bottles over to the counter and grappled with the opener for a few moments before finally uncorking one of them. She thought about chilling it, or at least letting it breathe, but decided that she was too trashy to care. Not to mention there was a shirtless man making her dinner and she really needed something to calm her nerves. She poured two large glasses of wine and slid one toward Elliott, gulping from the second. His fingers brushed hers briefly when he took the drink, but he seemed not to notice. Or he pretended not to notice. Rory swallowed down more wine before standing in front of the kitchen’s fireplace, trying to even her breathing.

After two glasses, Rory was sufficiently buzzed. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, a terrible side-effect of running around town with a checklist a mile long, and her body was leeching the alcohol like a sponge. “Wouldn’t it be silly if I caught a sponge in this latest haul?” she asked suddenly. Elliott looked at her peculiarly, his mouth pulled into a wry half-smile. Rory chuckled and finished her third glass of wine, setting the flute down. “I just mean… how weird.”

Elliott washed his hands before approaching her, offering her a hand. Rory blinked at it, only then realizing she was in the process of shimmying to the music. She ran a hand over her face, looking up at Elliott through her fingers. “I don’t dance.”

“You appeared to be dancing just now.”

“Only when I’m not paying attention.”

“Alright then,” he murmured, sweeping one of her hands into his, pulling her against him with the other. He was impossibly warm against her and she melted into his arms as he led her in a meandering, slow saunter. “Let us distract you. Why will you not go to the Flower Dance? The animals are cared for by mid-morning, from what I have seen, and the orchard can wait a day.”

Rory snorted, looking up at him with what she hoped was a warning look. It evidently was not one, though, because he only smiled back at her, the arm around her waist drawing her closer. Her heart fluttered and she had to concentrate to form a coherent sentence. “I can’t dance.”

“Nonsense, you dance beautifully.”

She scowled at him. “You’re leading, and I’m drunk. I’m less nervous when I’m drunk.”

“Then we shall drink ahead of time, yes?”

Rory huffed. “So you prefer that I go to this thing and agree to Sam’s thinly veiled marriage proposal?” she exaggerated, making Elliott laugh, his hand tightening on her waist.

“Hardly. I thought you might like to go with me. We city mice must stick together.”

Rory bit her lower lip. Her brain was too foggy, too thick. But she was saved from answering by her ancient stove’s precursor timer wailing, forcing them apart. Elliott cursed softly, moving to the stove and grappling with the knobs to silence the shrill noise. He pulled the crab cakes from the oven, garnishing them with his homemade remoulade sauce, and checked on the bisque.

“Rory, the first taste is yours,” he called, seeming more at home in her house than she was. He had placed a hot cake onto a small plate for her, placing it and a fork on the table. Starving and too tipsy for manners, Rory tore into the crab cake with gusto, unable to help the moan of delight. “This is amazing,” she said between bites, barely remembering to cover her mouth as she did.

Elliott laughed and lit the few candles she owned, placing them on the table. He then grabbed their bowls of bisque, serving her first, before turning the lights off. The kitchen woodstove and the candles cast shifting shadows in the dim room, but it was more intimate than terrifying, Rory found. It also did something to Elliott’s hair, making the red stand out more, shimmering like spun copper.

He was gorgeous, and he was making it very difficult for Rory to focus on her food.

They made small talk - Elliott had confirmed he needed more eggs and milk on Saturday and Rory asked if he would mind helping her with her crab pots twice a week. They talked about the orchard and how the orange trees were already bursting with blossoms, longing for the summer warmth. They talked about Elliott’s book. He had finally settled on a name for it - _Smoke Signals._

“What’s it about?” she asked, pushing her empty bowl and plate away, settling into her chair. The smooth music was still thrumming in the background, purring like a contented cat.

“I am still not sure,” he admitted. “I know there is a woman. A newcomer.”

Rory raised a brow at him. “Why, Elliott, are you writing a book about me?”

“Hardly,” he chuckled, tilting his head to the side. His long hair had dried in loose waves around his face. “Her name is Rebecca, not Rory.”

Rory snorted and got to her feet, grabbing the dishes and moving toward the sink. Elliott protested, attempting to do them himself, but she danced away from his hands. She was proud of herself for not tripping and falling, shattering some of the only dishes she owned. She rinsed them off quickly before putting them into the new dishwasher Robin had installed, turning to find Elliott pouring them both more wine. He strode toward her, unhurried, and handed her a glass. When Rory took it, their fingers touched again, for longer this time, and she had to suppress the urge to kiss him.

 _This is just loneliness,_ she reminded herself vehemently. _Get your shit together and stop being creepy._

She pulled back and finished the wine in three consecutive gulps. Elliott was watching her with a confused quirk to his lips. He seemed to see something on her face because he set his wine aside and reached for her. Rory’s body moved to his without her permission, easing against his, following his lead in their simple dance. They didn’t speak this time, and Rory let herself fully relax, her cheek pressing against Elliott’s warm chest.

She wasn’t sure how many songs had passed while they danced, but Rory did begin to realize it had been a while when her heart began to speed up and her palms prickled with sweat. Her mouth was watering, and she realized with a horrified start that she’d been daydreaming about kissing Elliott while pressed against the man.

Elliott noticed her tension and pulled back slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“I, um….” She cleared her throat. “We should probably go to bed. Sleep. We should probably sleep. The dance is tomorrow. I’m not going, but you are, so we should probably…”

“Sleep?” he supplied.

The scoundrel was grinning. Rory scrunched up her nose at him. “Yes, sleep. And you should be careful, or you’ll lose bed privileges.” She pulled away from him and moved toward the bedroom, turning back to look at him. “Well come on unless you want to sleep on that sagging loveseat.”

She wasn’t sure how she was going to survive a night sleeping beside Elliott; even though the bed was massive and there was more than enough room for the both of them, Rory had never been good at leaving things alone.

“I can drive Gus’ truck back home,” Elliott was offering as he entered the bedroom, loitering in the doorway without a shirt, hair a mussed mess. “There is no need to put you out.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Elliott, but you're drunk and the storm has definitely destroyed that shack by now. You’d just end up having to come back, and by then I might be passed out, and you’d have to sleep in Gus’ truck.”

“I would not like that very much,” he admitted, stepping into the room. Rory pretended not to watch as he removed his slacks, his thighs tensing with the motion. Her eyes glided over his boxer briefs and the bulge between his legs. She quickly looked away, turning toward her vanity. She listened to him slide into the bed and took a deep breath. Rory knew it was stupid, that she was playing a very dangerous game, that Elliott wasn’t exactly the type to appreciate such behavior, but even so, she decided a little show was only fair. She’d gotten a close look at him - she should return the favor.

Rory unfurled her hair from its bun and brushed it out, the thick, silken curtain falling down to the small of her back. She shinnied out of her shorts and camisole, leaving only her bra and panties. Rory turned toward Elliott, finding him watching her. He blushed slightly but didn’t look away, his eyes raising to hers. Before he could see her smile, she flicked off her side lamp and plunged the room into darkness.

She slid into the bed, the sheets whispering as she and Elliott adjusted themselves into more comfortable positions. They were both angled toward one another, faces only inches apart in spite of the grand bed. As her eyes grew accustomed, Rory began to make out the shape of Elliott’s eyes through the gloom.

“What do you miss about Zuzu?” he asked softly.

She thought about it for a moment. “The anonymity. I was no one to everyone. It was awful, but it had some perks, too. You?”

He was silent for so long that she thought he might have ignored her. Finally, he replied, “The library downtown, right beside the river. I spent hours there daily, trying to escape the real world.”

“I had a very different way of escaping the real world,” Rory mumbled, wincing. So many casual hookups. So many nights left unsatisfied and full of self-loathing.

Elliott reached out, his thumb ghosting above her lower lip, not touching. “One pleasant thing about being right here is that you do not need to escape. This is whatever you wish to make of it.”

“This?” she repeated. She was surprised her voice managed to utter the word. Did he mean Pelican Town? Did he mean them?

His smile widened and his finger brushed the underside of her lip. “What do you truly want, Rory?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. She wanted him. She wanted to wait. She wanted to see if he was interested in her for more than one night. She wanted to know if he was the type to woo and charm and then bolt. She couldn’t be wooed and charmed and then dumped anymore. “What do you want, Elliott?”

His lips turned up. “I want you-” Rory’s heart stammered, “-to go to the Flower Festival with me tomorrow.”

Rory nearly choked on her tongue. She covered it with a soft snort, rolling over so that her back was to him. She settled in, eyes closing, before grumbling, “Fine, but you help me with the chickens in the morning.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

Her mind was having trouble keeping up with her racing heart. “They peck, you know. It hurts.”

“Do not worry about me, Rory. Worry about your shoes if we are expected to dance in the muck after tonight’s downpour.”

Rory groaned, pressing her face into her pillow. What was she getting herself into? “Goodnight, Elliott.”

“Goodnight, Rory.”


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory awoke with a start, the bedroom bathed in sunlight through the windows’ open curtains. She blinked blearily, glancing at her clock, and then cursed. Rory had somehow overslept, her alarm and rooster failing to rouse her at the usual 5 am. Throwing herself out of bed and struggling into a thick flannel and jeans, she stumbled into the kitchen to be met with another person.

Elliott was at the counter making coffee. He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. “Good morning. The chickens have been tended to, but I am afraid I know nothing about milking.”

The previous night rushed back to Rory and her headache suddenly made sense. Wine and innocent canoodling. Mostly innocent - her thoughts had been much less so. She blushed at the memory, buttoning her flannel and clearing her throat. “Thanks. I overslept.”

“That would be my fault,” he admitted, going back to measuring out coffee grounds. “I stopped your alarm to let you sleep. You seemed as if you needed it.”

Rory couldn’t argue with him there. The circles under her eyes were darkening from sleepless nights and early wake-up calls from Sam and Sebastian. She wasn’t sure why they continued to check in with her before work - it might have been something to do with her lack of dress at one point, shuffling to the door in a gossamer nightshirt.

Rory slid into her jacket as she thought that, smoothing her bed-tangled hair back from her face. “Thanks. Um… I’m gonna head to the barn.”

“I thought I could go back to the shack to change,” Elliott began before she could bolt. “I can take Gus’ car and refill the fuel for him, as well, before picking you up.”

“Picking me up?” she repeated dumbly.

His smile turned sly. “For the Flower Dance.”

Rory groaned. She had agreed to go with him, but the thought of making a fool of herself in front of the entire town was unpleasant at best. But Elliott was watching her with so much amusement and hope that she grumbled and grabbed her milking pails. “Fine. But I won’t like it.”

Elliott graciously did not remind her how much she enjoyed dancing with him the previous night. “I should not be more than an hour. Will you be ready by then?”

“I doubt it, but I’ll try,” she admitted, knowing that a shower would be necessary before being in public. Her hair felt heavy and lank across her neck, her pores no-doubt leaking the scent of alcohol. “The thing is all day right?” Before he could answer, she nodded toward the basket of eggs he had collected. “Take some back, and some of the milk in the fridge.” Before he could draw her in with his flawless face, she threw herself out of the door, practically running toward the barn with her pails clanking a horrendous cacophony in her wake.

 

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

Elliott had taken his time at the shack, attempting to give Rory some space and privacy. She had seemed flustered, embarrassed, even, and the reaction had stung slightly. He had been sure things had gone well the previous night. He had felt something, some close kinship at the very least; he thought she had, too.

He showered and dressed, drying and smoothing his hair back. He thought about dressing up for the event but settled on a pressed button down, black slacks, and a matching vest. It was still dressier than most would probably wear, so he decided to leave the coat home for the day. It would be warm, the swiftly approaching summer’s breeze flitting in as it was, and he did not want to be covered in sweat all day.

Elliott took a few moments to jot down ideas for his book - the main character’s blue eyes and pink-tinged skin from too much time in the sun, how she bit the inside of her cheek when she deliberated, how she chewed her lower lip when nervous. The way her eyelashes fluttered when she slept.

Elliot knew he wouldn’t use any of those details in his book, in all actuality, but he had to write them down, to remember them, to remember her. Even if she left the farm, even if she left Stardew Valley, he would still have this.

He was beginning to despise how quickly he was falling for her. Was he no better than the others in town, distracted and enthralled by the new girl? Elliott hoped it was more than that. He hoped that his infatuation was more than the physical details he had just jotted.

And then he added, _Her eyes hold a darkness. She has a past she ran from, but she thinks on it often. She is trying to hide, building a wall between her and others who only wish to know her. She can open up, brief chinks in her armor, but she fills them quickly, embarrassed at her weakness. At what she views as her weakness._

Elliott swallowed and sat down at his desk, his pen scratching out, _Rebecca had never been one for goodbyes. She prided herself on always being able to leave a situation with little effort, slipping from relationships and responsibilities like smoke._

 

* * *

 

It had been two hours when he finally looked up from his writing, cursing himself for falling so far into the words. He slipped on his shoes - the fancy, shiny ones that pinched his toes - and tore out of the shack and into Gus’ truck. He drove faster than he should have, but the streets were empty. The festival had begun an hour ago and, unlike himself and Rory, the other townspeople had no intention of being late to it.

He reached her farm in mere minutes, the five-mile drive between their homes a breeze, and ran to her door. He gave a perfunctory knock before entering to find her coming out of the bedroom, putting earrings in. “Oh, hey,” she said nonchalantly. “Thought you forgot about me. But good timing, I just finished up.”

Finished up she had. Elliott was surprised his mouth hadn’t dropped to the floor at the sight of her. She was in her usual skinny jeans, but she’d replaced her nondescript tank top with a flowing, creamy off-the-shoulder smock, the front hem short enough to show a slender strip of sunburnt abdomen above the low-slung jeans. Her ears glittered with red studs and her dark hair had been pulled up and away from her face in a curled ponytail, wisps of hair falling around her ears.

Elliott knew that she was aware of how she looked; even so, he managed, “You are radiant.”

She grinned, pleased, but said, “Well, radiant is one word for it. Lobster-y is another.” She stepped into a pair of knee-high black boots, clearing her throat. “You look pretty good, yourself. The green brings out your eyes,” she added, reaching out to straighten his collar. She smelled like honeysuckle. Elliott watched her as she worked, taking much longer with his collar than needed.

“Are we ready?” he asked, his voice huskier than before. Her fingers brushing his throat were making it hard to think.

She finally pulled back and smiled. “One last thing.” She retreated to the sink, reaching under it to secure a bottle of wine and a corkscrew. “You promised we could drink before this shit-show.”

Elliott laughed. “I suppose we did. Red, I hope?”

“Red,” she confirmed, uncorking the bottle with practiced ease before sashaying past him and out the door. Elliott followed, unabashedly watching her hips swing as she descended the stairs and slid into the truck’s passenger side.

Elliott joined her in the truck to find Rory taking a deep swig from the bottle. He supposed it wasn’t a bad plan to start her buzz early, though an open container while driving someone else’s truck was slightly concerning. Elliott pushed it out of his mind and started the vehicle, leaving the farm and heading toward the Cindersap Forest.

 

* * *

 

Rory had stuck close to him the entire day. She had also maintained a buzz the entire time, drinking a glass of wine every hour. Elliott was pleased to see her refraining from becoming all-out drunk, but he was concerned about the slightly feral, cornered look that lingered on her face.

He’d asked her to dance at least five times, but she always waved him off with an excuse. _It’s too cold. It’s too warm. Everyone is already staring at me, I don’t want to embarrass myself. Sam might feel bad if I dance with someone else after turning him down. I think I’m too drunk to dance_.

Finally, Elliott glanced around. The numbers were dwindling, the older people having left for a late lunch. Leah, who had been attempting to catch his eye all day, grinned and waved at him. He returned both gestures and Rory followed the interaction, her lips tugging upward. “Don’t let me keep you from your lady,” she teased.

“My mother taught me to always dance with the one I came with,” he returned smoothly. “That being said, I did anticipate a dance, but I suppose I should count myself lucky that you came at all.”

Rory sighed, her head tilting back, looking up at the leaves of the tree they had taken shelter under. The song had changed from an upbeat request to something slower, deeper. Elliott wasn’t sure if Rory had noticed that Leah was making her way toward them from across the glade, but she finally said, “Alright, let’s dance. But just so we're clear, I am going to step on your feet purely out of spite.”

Elliott grinned and took her hand in his, pulling her toward the center of the clearing where Alex and Haley were still dancing. He cast a quick glance toward Leah. The woman had changed direction, moving toward Gus’ drink table. He felt a sudden pang of guilt; he knew Leah had feelings for him, and he had once thought it wouldn’t be the worst way to spend his evenings. Leah was kind, intelligent, and resourceful - it had seemed perfect.

And then the whirlwind that was Rory poured into town and changed everything.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him. Dark blue eyes held him, the color paler in direct sunlight. “Am I that bad at this?”

He smiled and tightened his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “Never. I was simply wondering as to how you might have come to be in Pelican Town.”

Elliott worried that it might have been a poor choice of conversation because her face darkened for a moment. She cleared her throat, her body tensed like a bowstring. “I wasn’t the person I wanted to be in Zuzu. I… there were a lot of things that I needed to get away from. Toxicity that somehow got inside me.”

Elliott hadn’t intended to do it, but he brushed his lips across her forehead, her hair tickling his nose. “I understand.”

Rory tucked her head under his chin and breathed out a sigh. “Sorry. It’s not a pleasant story, and I’m trying really hard to focus on pleasant.”

“Pleasant is best,” he agreed. “You are surrounded by nature and memories of your childhood. You have a town willing to offer its support. You have a thriving orchard and animals who love you.”

“The chickens hate me,” she chuckled, the noise muffled by his shirt.

“Chickens notwithstanding, you have much to enjoy here.”

The song ended but Rory didn’t pull away immediately. When she did, she was biting the inside of her cheek. “You forgot something.”

“Oh?”

“You’re possibly the most pleasant thing I can focus on.” Before Elliott could react - blush, hug her, kiss her - she pulled back and ran a hand over her arm. “The buzz is fading. To the drink table.”

“To the drink table,” he repeated, hoping the flush on his neck looked like a sunburn.

 

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

The river gurgled and Rory sighed, her sore feet kicking through the water. The night air was thick with the coming summer, the smell of springtime fading off into something sharper. She laid back and closed her eyes, resting her head on her crossed forearms, the pinpricks of stars brighter than she had expected.

Elliott was beside her - it felt like Elliot was always beside her. She turned her head slightly and peeked at him through slitted eyes. His feet were in the water, as well, slacks rolled up over his calves. He stared into the river, seeming distracted but comfortable.

“I had a breakdown,” she said suddenly, interrupting the lengthy silence. Elliott looked at her, his face a careful neutral. “I worked at Joja’s corporate office. Accounting. I was wasting away there, stuck in a cubicle, staring at numbers all day. And then I would go out and spend what little money I had on wining and dining people I had no real interest in. People weren't even people to me toward the end. They were just numbers. Numbers in suits - just like the numbers I worked with all day, just more motivated. I made awful decisions just because I was bored and numb and… I don’t know. I wanted to feel something. Anything. It didn't have to be good, it just had to be distracting, just for a moment, just so I could take a breath.

"One day," she continued, her voice wavering. Elliott's eyes were heavy and hot on her face. "One day I was at work, feeling like everything I touched turned to shit, trying to understand how I'd become this fucked up thing that used to be a human... and I got the call. The call that Grandad died and I just -- everything just… broke. Evidently, I started screaming. And then I started smashing everything around me. Security had to pin me against a wall until the police came. I cost the company over 100,000 in damages, supposedly. Broke another employee's nose when I threw my coffee mug across the room. Something about a few injuries when people tried running away from my... _episode._

"The doctors said I’d had a ‘stress-related dissociative mental break.’ Joja wasn’t going to take the chance of bringing me back on, not that I wanted to go back, anyway. I sat in my apartment for a week, just sitting. And then I got a call about the Will. Grandad left me everything. All of this. I guess I just supposed… why not? How could it be worse than everything else in my life?”

Elliott was silent. Rory swallowed; she had thought he would understand, that he would empathize, that he wouldn’t be scared. But now she expected him to make a quick excuse, a quick getaway. But then Elliott put a gentle hand on her arm. “Come here,” he murmured.

Rory sat up, her wet legs folding under her, and Elliott grasped her waist, guiding her onto his lap. His arms wrapped around her, his face buried into her neck, breathing her in. She sat there, stunned, hands like restless birds fluttering above his shoulders. Her heart was stammering in her chest, her throat thick and hot with the urge to cry. How long had it been since someone hugged her? Held her with no intent other than comfort? She finally wrapped her arms around his neck, letting out a choked noise that she didn’t recognize as her own voice.

He held her, warm and solid and comforting. Her shoulders had begun to shake but she didn’t cry. She wouldn’t let herself cry - she’d promised that she was over that. When he finally pulled away, his arms still around her waist, his eyes met hers and held them. “You are safe here.”

It felt as if Rory’s heart broke into a million glittering pieces in her chest. Elliott’s face was so close to her, their noses nearly touching. Elliot was right there, offering her the safety she’d been trying to find for most of her life; some semblance of home.

She didn’t know she was leaning into him until her mouth covered his, lips delighting in his softness. His grip on her waist tightened reflexively, drawing her closer, lips pressing into her. She ran her hands through his hair, biting back her tears, fingers trying to hold every inch of him that she could.

It had been perfect for what felt like an eternity until Rory’s mind caught up to her actions. _What are you doing? You’re just going to hurt him. You always hurt everyone. You can’t even trust yourself to take care of a hamster without flaking - and now you have a farm of animals. Is adding a lover to the mix wise?_

Rory tried to dismiss the niggling feeling as her mouth opened to Elliott’s seeking tongue. The voice, however, would not be quieted and Rory pulled back from him quickly, shaking her head. “I can’t,” she whispered, running a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t.”

Elliott’s hands loosened on her waist. She could hear his heavier-than-usual breathing and feel his gaze on her. “I am sorry if I overstepped-”

“No, no,” she said quickly, taking her hand from her face and meeting his eyes. He was kind, sweet, but there was a tinge of hurt there. “As cliche as this sounds, it has nothing to do with you. Or it does. I just don’t want to hurt you,” she added quickly. “You’re too good for me - too good for anyone, really, and I barely even know you, but I _know you._ I am a mess. I’ve always been a mess. I can’t form proper emotional attachments; I get moody and disinterested when the initial fire is gone. I just… I can’t do that. Not to you.”

Elliott watched her peculiarly before smiling. “I understand.”

Rory’s heart kept splitting, over and over, the splinters digging into her skin. She leaned in, resting her head on his shoulder, whispering, “I’m sorry. I want this, I do, I just… fuck. I should have known I would screw this up.”

One of his hands smoothed over her back. “There is nothing to be sorry for, and nothing has been ruined.” Rory pulled away and got to her feet. Elliott joined her and they stood awkwardly for a moment before Elliott cleared his throat. “Let us get you home. Your chickens will be needing a hand to peck soon.”

He walked her to her cabin and talked about the trees and the smell in the air, the creeping fog above the lake they passed and the shimmering sky. Rory didn’t respond much - and when she did, it was mostly mumbles - but Elliott didn’t seem to mind. He was excellent at pretending not to be hurt. That made Rory wonder if it was because he’d only known hurt. The thought only made her feel worse.

When they made it to her front door, Rory turned to him stiffly. “You can stay if you want,” she murmured. “It’s late.”

Elliott took a deep breath, looking up at the sky longingly. “It is a pleasant evening. A night walk is best on pleasant evenings.”

Rory swallowed. “Can we just forget tonight happened?”

He opened his arms, and she went to him without hesitation, but with some shame. He hugged her close and replied, “Never. It will be a night I remember quite fondly.”

“You're infuriatingly sweet,” she said with a huff, pulling back to look up at him. “You might as well give up on me now; I'm not good at being normal.”

“Nor am I, Rory,” he chuckled, squeezing her hand before descending the steps to the craggy grass in front of the cabin. “Shall we clear out the crab pots tomorrow?”

“Monday,” she corrected, running a hand through her hair. “I think I need a day off tomorrow.”

“That seems best,” he agreed with the polite smile of his. “Goodnight, Rory.”

“Night,” she mumbled.

She thought that was all, but Elliott turned again for one final thing. “I know it is difficult, but do not isolate yourself. Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we get hurt. But that's the proof that you are human - feeling those things.” He waved a slight goodbye and trudged toward town, his hands in his pockets and eyes lifted to watch the sky.

Rory sank to the porch steps and looked up at the stars, sighing. She'd made an ass of herself; she was still trying to decide if it was because of her advances or her own self-sabotaging. Either way, she had all the proof she needed to know that Elliott was a gentleman incarnate and too pure for the world; certainly too pure for her.


	6. Chapter 6

 

* * *

  **Elliott**

* * *

 

It was noon and she still hadn't arrived. Elliott had begun to think Rory had decided not to deal with the crab pots, or him, so he chose to do it himself. He still had some canvas totes from his days in Zuzu, so he used those to collect the wriggling masses of lobsters, shrimp, crabs, and tiny fish. The storm the previous week had done wonders for the pots - they were teaming with life. He missed at least five pinches in his quest to clear the rubbish out before upending the creatures into his totes.

He was just finishing with the net when a pounding of hooves thundered across the beach toward him. Rory was riding her black-and-white Paint, the horse kicking up wet sand as it tore toward him. Rory brought the mare to a halt, sliding out of the saddle with a flawless flourish. “I'm so sorry,” she huffed, grabbing a gunny sack from the saddlebag. “I got distracted.”

They quickly emptied his bags into hers, Elliott nothing short of relieved at her appearance. She seemed fine - normal, even. There was no hint of awkwardness in her words or motions. “I am intrigued. What, I wonder, could be so important that it kept you from this exhilarating experience?”

She smirked at his teasing tone. “Help me with this and I'll show you.” They balanced the gunny across the mare's back before Rory grabbed a bulging pouch, opening it for his inspection. “Berries! Now I just need to make sure they're edible and what I can sell them for.”

Elliott took an involuntary step back. “They are edible, but only just. They do not sell well, either.” At her skeptical look, he added, “Try one if you do not believe me.”

Rory still looked suspicious, but she plucked a berry from the bag, wiping the globe off, and then popped it in her mouth. The reaction was instantaneous. Her face screwed up in horror and she gagged, covering her lips and running into the water to spit the stuff out. “What are those?” she demanded when she came back, wiping her chin.

Elliott tried very hard not to laugh but was failing. “Salmonberries. I have yet to meet a soul who enjoys them.”

“I can see why,” she grumbled, taking her horse's reins. “Want to come along to Gus’? There will be lobster in it for you,” she tempted.

Elliott didn't care about the seafood; he only wanted to spend time with her, fool that he was. She was his Muse, for better or worse, and she'd ensnared him. No matter her feelings, his affections were wrapped up in her smile all the same. “Of course. It would be impolite to refuse the lovely lady.”

Rory rolled her eyes but her smile was pleased. “Come on, master poet, let's get going before the night crowd comes in. I don't think I can handle another drunken come-on from Shane.” To which she added, "Dude seems harmless enough, but he's moody as fuck. I thought _I_ was temperamental."

He chuckled understandingly as they led her horse toward the center of town. Elliott had seen Shane occasionally, but their single verbal interaction involved Elliott smiling and Shane answering with a, "Fuck off."

When they arrived at the saloon, Sam, Sebastian, and Abigail were at the door, Sebastian smoking a cigarette. “Rory, hey!” Abigail greeted, turning her grin to Elliott. “Hey, Elliott. How's it going?”

“it is a nice evening,” Elliott replied, unsure what to say as he helped Rory untie her bag. Abigail had always been pleasant to him, but he didn’t know her well. He was slightly surprised she’d remembered his name.

Rory was not as on edge as Elliott had expected. The three younger people talked animatedly while Rory smiled, the expression morphing from tight and anxious to genuinely amused as the conversation deepened. Elliott couldn't follow it - something about a zombie? A movie, perhaps? - but seeing Rory open up around the others was a pleasing sight.

Rory excused herself to give Gus the latest shipment, drawing Elliott back to the real world. It didn't take long for Sam to turn his attention to Elliott once Rory had gone, a wry smile tilting his lips. “You two seem pretty cozy.”

“Sam, let it go,” Abigail groaned.

Sam shrugged and kicked a rock with his foot. “I’m not trying to start anything, seriously! I'm just saying. For not knowing one another, you two seem close. I'm glad she has someone looking out for her is all.”

“She is quite capable of caring for herself,” was Elliott’s only response.

Sebastian put out his cigarette long before it was done, evidently eager to get out of the uncomfortable conversation. “Come on; there's a pool table saying I am gonna kick your ass.”

Sam grinned, the expression boyish and bright, and followed his friend without a backward glance. Abigail offered Elliott an apologetic smile. “Sorry, he’s been kind of... off this week. His dad hasn’t written in a while, and they’re all on edge.”

Elliott grimaced. “It is more than understandable.”

Abigail shrugged, tilting her head. “Sure, but he doesn’t need to get weird at everyone.” She headed for the door but hesitated, turning back. “Hey, you and Rory should come by the beach Saturday night. I mean, you live there and all, I guess, but -- anyway, we’re having a little party. Drinks galore!”

Elliott had no intention of going to such a party, given the uneasy tension in the interaction he'd just been privy to, but he smiled politely anyway. “I will mention it to Rory."

Abigail was gone after a quick smile and goodbye, only to be replaced with Rory. Her sack was three-quarters empty. “He couldn’t buy them all today,” she explained without him having to ask.

“Shall we try Pierre’s?”

"He doesn't normally buy seafood, does he?" Before Elliott could reply that he didn't know, Rory shrugged, "Might as well try, though." She let out a little sigh, and they led the horse toward the center of town. Elliott watched how Rory absently ran her hand through the Paint's wind-blown mane, sunburnt hands streaks of pink in the white locks. He followed the red hands up to the freckling, burnt arms. She looked healthier than the first time he'd seen her, he realized. The transformation was happening quickly, her pallid skin coloring in, her arms chording with muscle, her half-starved body filling out.

“What is her name?” he asked, suddenly recognizing that he had been staring at Rory for much too long and needed to pretend there was a reason.

Rory blinked over at him and then grinned, realizing he meant the horse. “Josephine. Josie for short.” She patted the horse’s thick neck. “She’s been lonely, so I took her along on my foraging run this morning.”

Pierre’s was busy with the early-bird shoppers buying last-minute goods before the shop’s Wednesday closure. Marnie was one of them, and she waved excitedly to Rory from the doorway. Elliott sensed a long conversation coming, one which he probably was not invited to, and placed a hand on Rory’s lower back. He leaned in, murmuring, “Would it be alright if I were to take Josie out for a ride along the river?”

Rory turned to him, his hand sliding to her hip as she did, and smiled. “She’d like that.”

Elliott very reluctantly pulled back from her. “We shall be back in about thirty minutes?”

Rory winced and glanced back at Marnie. “Make it an hour.”

Elliott chuckled, unable to help it. He hesitated, wanting to touch her hand or her arm, but Marnie was almost upon them, and no gesture would go unnoticed. So he smiled and left her there outside of the store teeming with people, her anxiety evident in the way her shoulders tensed.

 

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory had managed to convince Marnie to follow her to Pierre’s counter while the older woman talked. Pierre looked amused as he took Rory’s bag of seafood into the back to tally its contents, only after giving her a hard time for smelling up his shop with the things. Luckily for Rory, Caroline was a fan of having seafood on hand in the deep freeze.

“-keep hearing that you and Elliott are inseparable,” Marnie was saying in a faux whisper.

Rory hadn’t been listening too closely to the animal husbandry talk, even though she knew she should, but the sudden mention of Elliott made her snap back to reality. “What was that?”

Marnie tilted her head to the side, her chestnut hair twitching like a snake on her shoulder. “It’s just an interesting choice! That’s all I meant by it.”

Rory furrowed her brows. “Choice?”

Marnie chuckled, shouldering her bag of baking ingredients. “Oh, honey. Everyone saw you two at the dance.”

Rory opened her mouth to deny it, but her throat sealed up around the words. She shifted uncomfortably before saying, “We’re friends. He’s been really nice to me.”

Marnie’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it - he’s a sweet man. I just worry he might leave without a word once he finishes that book of his.”

Rory blinked. “Leave? Why would he -- what does his book have to do with anything?”

Marnie looked uncomfortable, moving her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything. People talk, and it’s probably all manure, anyway.” At Rory’s narrowed eyes, she gave in. “When he moved in, he and Leah were relatively close. He pushed her away saying that he would be leaving Pelican Town when he finished his book. He’s supposedly out here to get away from his parents? I’m really not sure, Leah might have been confused! Maybe it was the easiest excuse for him to turn her down gently?”

Rory’s blood was rushing through her head. Was he planning on leaving? It shouldn’t have surprised her; Rory herself had intended to blow town once she was feeling capable of human interactions. Planned. She hadn’t thought of the city in a few weeks, though, her mind too wrapped up in what she wanted - Elliott - and how what she wanted made no sense. She barely knew him. She always hurt those she tried to get close to. She was an unreliable partner who would flake without warning. She wasn’t good enough for him - she never could be.

Pierre had returned with her sack, a handful of seafood left, and paid her. She turned some of the money right back around for a bag of groceries. Marnie followed her through the store, trying to talk about the weather and her chickens. Rory wasn’t hearing any of it, but Marnie didn’t seem to mind. She eventually left Rory to herself when Caroline came out of a back room and the two began clucking like hens, voices dipping low, eyes conspiratorially turning to Rory.

Insufferable busybodies. Well-meaning, of course, but insufferable all the same.

When she finally made it out of the store, Elliott and Josie were coming up the sidewalk, the horse looking jauntier than Rory had seen her in a while. Elliott smiled, tugging the reins awkwardly, shifting uneasily in the saddle. “I am surprised I survived the ride.”

Rory snorted but before she could tease him, the door behind her opened and Marnie and Caroline’s voices filtered through the square. Rory bit her tongue, trying not to laugh when she called to Elliott, louder than necessary, “Hey, want to do dinner and a movie tonight?”

Elliott looked surprised but responded quickly. “Of course.”

“Perfect,” Rory chirped, busying herself with tying her seafood bag to the side of Josie’s rump, tucking her groceries into the saddlebags. “I have some of that merlot you like.” Rory took Elliott’s offered hand and slid into the saddle in front of him, their bodies forced close together. His hands were on her waist, low enough to brush her hips. Rory glanced at the two women watching them, surprisingly silent, and she grinned. “Night, ladies!” she called pleasantly, shaking the reins. Josie snorted and trotted forward.

 

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

Rory was close to asleep, her head on his thigh, when she suddenly mumbled, “How’s the book coming?”

The movie flickering in front of them had been lost on Elliott. It was some kind of period-piece with big hooped skirts and elaborate coifs - typically he would have been drawn in by the gorgeous landscapes and actors, but Rory had done everything in her power to distract him. She had sat close to him on the couch, the sagging middle forcing them together. That had turned into her leaning into him, head on his shoulder and his arm slung around her. It had somehow resulted in her sleepily curling up on the couch, her head in his lap while he brushed her hair with his fingers. He did his very best to keep his discomfort hidden, but he was only a man. He had just barely stopped himself from kissing her the entire evening; this was pure torture.

“The book?” he repeated belatedly, kicking himself. “Ah, yes. It seems to be coming along rather well, to be honest. I worked without rest yesterday and feel as though I have made a breakthrough. Or I am particularly exhausted from the strain and hallucinating that any of it made sense.”

Elliott expected her to ask what the story was about, how the main character was shaping up, and if there was some way she could help - but she didn’t. She was silent for a long stretch of time before asking, “What do you think you'll do when you finish it?”

Elliott wasn't prepared for that question; he hadn’t been ready to think about what happened after his book. Until recently, he secretly didn’t even expect to finish it. “I have not looked that far ahead,” he answered honestly.

She sat up, angling herself to look at him. The glow from the television screen illuminated her high cheekbones and cherubic face. She wasn’t smiling. “Marnie said that you planned to go back to Zuzu after you finish your book.”

Elliott’s heart stuttered. He wasn’t sure what part of the sentence bothered him more. “Marnie spoke to you about -- when did she say this? Today?” Before Rory could reply, Elliott gritted his teeth in annoyance. “She barely knows me, Rory. We spoke a handful of times a year ago, and nothing but pleasantries since.”

“So she’s wrong?” Rory pressed. He wished he could tell what she was thinking as she stared at him, but her voice and her face were infuriatingly blank. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about?”

“I never-” Elliott began, but then bit his tongue. He couldn’t mislead her. “I do not know what will happen when I finish the book. I know that I have enough funds to stay here for a time, a year, perhaps, but it will not last long if the book does not succeed. Either way,” he murmured, meeting her heavy gaze, “I might return to Zuzu. Or I might stay here. The future seems more uncertain than it used to.”

She looked toward the television, biting the inside of her cheek. He observed her until she returned her gaze to him. “I don’t know what I’m doing, either. At least you have a goal; I’m just floating around trying not to melt into a useless puddle.”

How he wanted to kiss those pouting lips. He swallowed it down and took her hand in his, holding it tightly. Her fingers were like icicles. He lifted them to his mouth, blowing gently and rubbing them. “We can only do so much on our own, Rory. You must let people in eventually.”

“I thought that’s what I’ve been doing with you,” was her smooth response. Elliott shook his head and took her other hand, repeating the warming process. “I’m trying, Elliott. Seriously. If you’d seen me a year ago, you wouldn’t have recognized me. There were steel barricades _for days_ around this heart.”

Elliott believed that, which didn’t make him feel any better. He put their joined hands on the couch between their bodies and met her gaze. “What do you plan to do? Return to the city or stay here?”

Rory’s smile softened. “I don’t know. The intention was always to go back, but now… I can think of a few reasons to stay.” Before he could answer, Rory stood and turned the television off, pulling Elliott off of the couch and toward the bedroom. They stripped down to their underwear and Elliott slid under the plush comforter. Rory followed him in and promptly curled herself against him, her face buried into his chest. He pulled her close and draped his arm around her waist, breathing in the honeysuckle of her hair.

“I really like you, Elliott,” she mumbled.

He stroked her hair back from her face. “And I, you.”

She chuckled and fell asleep to Elliott’s hand smoothing through her hair, his heart racing against her cheek.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory hadn't expected to go to the beach Saturday night - she'd gotten good at deflecting Abigail's attempts to bring her into the fold. Even so, when Abigail showed up on her doorstep with a smirk and a promise of top-shelf alcohol, Rory gave in. Elliott had decided to stay at the shack to write, _undistracted,_ he had added with that quietly sly way of his, so she had no other prospects.

Being alone in the big farmhouse was stressful, and there were only so many times she could scroll between the handful of TV channels she got. The internet wasn't much better; everything was rehashed garbage, comedy shows she couldn't pay attention to, and wartime alerts that made her anxiety flare.

Somewhere along the way, Rory had forgotten how to be alone. She wasn't sure when it had happened, but she knew who the culprit was.

"Get changed!" Abigail said when Rory reached for her keys, still in her pajama pants and camisole.

Rory frowned at the girl, taking in her bikini-clad, slender body and the sheer shift covering it. "I don't even know if I own a bathing suit."

Abigail rummaged through her massive beach bag and procured a handful of strings and thin cloth. "Can't get out of it now, can you? Do you have a coverup, or do I need to grab my spare from the trunk?"

Rory groaned and waved the bathing suit away, turning to walk into her bedroom. She had brought a swimsuit with her - four, in fact - but none were in cuts she was exactly comfortable wearing around the _boys-her-age._ Even so, she grabbed her least revealing piece, a monokini made of little more than crisscrossing black strips, and a sheer beach dress, the thin material whispering down to her mid-thigh. Rory slipped into a pair of flip-flops and returned to Abigail, who catcalled and winked, pulling her out of the door and toward the car.

The drive to the beach was quick; Abigail's car was a bit nicer than most in town and purred like a kitten when she shifted gears. She parked just outside of the beach access point, going to the trunk to pull out a box full of bottles. "Grab the other one?" Abigail puffed, struggling under the weight of her box.

"Yoba, how many of us are there?" Rory breathed, picking up the second box and balking. Rory had been known to hold quite a bit of liquor in her day, but there was easily two gallons of drink between them.

"Die young, leave an alcohol-bloated corpse. We party hard around here," Abigail shrugged nonchalantly before smirking. "I'm fucking with you; there's no way we're drinking anywhere close to a quarter of this. Those bitches are picky, so I bring tons of options. All cheap, of course, so you're out of luck if you're wanting some Cristal."

Rory wanted to sigh in relief. She'd never been much of a mother hen type, but there was something so pure about the kids in Stardew Valley; Abigail in particular. Rory had a good five years on the girl, at least, but there was something so innocent about Abigail, even though she tried to hide it. "Cristal is for losers, anyway."

Sam, Sebastian, and Shane were sitting at a small fire in an animated argument over some kind of video game. Sam broke off when he saw Rory and Abigail, running over to take Rory's box from her. "You could have asked us for help!" Sam chided, lugging the box to the fire pit.

Sebastian and Shane watched as Rory and Abigail brought the other box, Abigail panting softly. "Thanks for all the help, guys," she puffed. "Assholes."

"Weren't you just arguing that women shouldn't be treated like they can't do things for themselves?" Shane smirked.

"Asshole," Abigail repeated, but she was grinning as she sat in the sand beside the boxes. "It's called common decency to help people, woman or not."

Shane shrugged, reaching for a bottle of vodka. "I don't help guys, either."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, a hobby of his, and grabbed a power drink from the closest box. Rory wanted to ask why he wasn't drinking, but her palms were prickling with sudden nerves. She sat down between Sam and Shane, the only free spot left, and shifted uncomfortably.

"Rory, what kind of music do you like?" Sam asked, perking up as Abigail passed a rum bottle to him. He offered it to Rory, but she waved it off.

"Whiskey girl," she supplied, clearing her throat and going back to his question. "I like all kinds. Experimental and industrial recently, but I can usually listen to anything and enjoy it."

"You're not just saying that because we're in an experimental band, right?" Abigail teased. She passed a whiskey bottle down the line toward Rory, who uncorked it with ease. "Really, though, you should come listen to us sometime."

Sebastian, surprisingly, nodded. "We need some outside feedback. Can't trust the parents to be honest."

"And you can trust me to be honest?" Rory snorted, taking a long pull from the cheap bottle and wincing. It felt like eons since she'd chugged hard liquor.

"Do we really need to do more music talk?" Shane grumbled. "Didn't we just talk about music?"

"No, we just talked about _talking about_ sexism, remember?" Sebastian chuckled, barely dodging the beer tab that Abigail flicked at him.

Rory found it oddly easy to drift into the conversation and their good-natured teasing. She had drunk a little more than she should have, much faster than she should have, by the time Abigail reached into her beach tote and produced a ziplock baggie.

"Holy shit," Shane sputtered, covering his mouth to stem the beer-filled spit-take. "When did you go to Zuzu? Is Jaime out of jail?"

"Haven't been to Zuzu in a year, and I have no idea about Jaime. Can't keep under the radar if you're still hanging out with a kid busted for possession." Abigail fumbled with her purse, procuring rolling papers. "My dad smokes."

"No shit?" Sebastian chuckled, trying to hide it behind the cigarette he had lit.

"No shit," she confirmed as she worked on the joint she was rolling with practiced fingers. The sight of it, the smell of it, made Rory's stomach flip. She hadn't smoked in ages; she hadn't been able to afford it on her Joja salary. Whatever strain Abigail had, it smelled good - better than any that Rory's cheap friends in college had shared.

"Right on, Pierre," Sam chuckled, glancing over at Rory warmly. "Can you imagine Pierre stoned? He wouldn't be able to stop talking about seeds," he chuckled, swigging more of the rum.

Abigail pursed her lips, passing the first two joints out before rolling more. "It's for the pain; he got really hurt during his last fight, I guess. I was just a kid, but... Mom doesn't know he's smoking it, and Dad lets me take some from time to time; as a bribe, I guess. He doesn't like the painkillers because they make him weird and moody, and he doesn't like when Mom is mad, so... he has it hide it. Like he's some criminal or something - like just trying to feel better without popping prescriptions is a crime."

"Shit," Shane grimaced.

"Sorry, Abby," Sebastian murmured, Sam echoing the sentiment.

She shrugged it off, but the tension in her shoulders released after their apologies. The sounds of the crackling fire and the ocean were the only noises until Abigail finished and handed the rest of the weed out. She offered one to Rory but hesitated, her smile reassuring. "You don't have to if you don't want."

"Yeah," Sam said quickly, sitting up straighter. "We don't even have to. If you don't want us to."

"Speak for yourself," Shane snorted, lighting the tip and taking a deep breath.

Even though she had planned to smoke anyway, Rory was surprised and pleased to see that no one intended to pressure her into anything. Not that she had expected them to, of course - sometimes she was simply startled by the valley's wholesomeness. "Yeah, I'll take one. Thanks."

As Abigail moved to sit down and Shane passed Rory his lighter, Sebastian made a strange noise under his breath. "...Abs. Your dad pays you off in pot... and you're just now sharing?"

"Ooh, good point," Sam laughed, delighted. "How long have you been holding out on us?"

Abigail rolled her eyes and lit her joint, taking a deep drag before murmuring, "About a year."

"You've been holding out for -- Yoba's panties! I regret helping you with that box!"

Rory grinned and took long, measured pulls on her joint, her eyes sliding between people as the conversation pitched, as they shared half-coherent stories, while everyone was easily distracted by the fire or the waves or the wind. And yet, those moments of calm would be sporadically interrupted with a flurry of motion and voices; giggles and shrieks while bare feet suddenly tore through the sand, chasing one another.

At some point, Rory found herself dancing with Abigail in the tide to a strange industrial song that felt like a dagger gently scraping across her heart without cutting. It was metallic, searing, and not entirely unpleasant.

She wasn't sure when Elliott had arrived, but she looked up to find Sebastian offering the man a beer. Elliott wasn't paying attention to Sebastian; his eyes were trained on Rory.

Abigail stopped her hip shimmying to turn around, murmuring, "Is something w-" before breaking off. "Oh! Elliott told me he wasn't coming."

"Me, too," Rory responded softly, pulling back from Abigail and heading up the soft sand to the bonfire. "Hey," she chirped cheerfully, tilting her head to the side. Elliott still hadn't acknowledged the offered beer and Sebastian had given up, choosing to instead toss the can toward Sam, hitting the blonde on the arm.

"Hello, yourself," Elliott smiled softly while Sam shouted expletives to his left. Elliott's eyes finally left hers, scanning over where Shane was tossing a gridball up in the air, higher and higher, and where Abigail was loitering, the water still lapping at her ankles. "I was just heading out for a walk to clear my mind."

"Do you want to stick around?" Rory asked, suddenly feeling awkward and slightly guilty. "We have more alcohol than an entire army could drink." She ignored the fact that Sam had just tackled Sebastian to the sand right beside them.

Elliott chuckled and glanced at the boys wrestling, tossing sand up. "I think a walk and a nap might be in order. I have a long night of writing ahead of me."

Rory bit her lower lip and swayed from one foot to the other. "Okay. We can move this further down the beach - I don't want to disturb you."

"It is not a disturbance; I am glad to see you having fun." Even as he said it, she could tell there was a ghost of something else there. He nodded goodnight to her. She shifted her weight again, biting her lip until he had slipped up the beach toward town.

Rory went to sit on the sand, watching Sam and Sebastian trying to spit and pick sand particles out of their mouths. Abigail and Shane joined her for more drinks and more joints. Rory's head was already a swamp of jumbled thoughts and feelings, but she took the offerings without thinking.

Some habits, it seemed, died harder than others.

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

The beachside party had stretched into the early hours of the morning. Elliott had known he was only torturing himself when he'd cracked one of the windows, the warped wood squealing in protest. Luckily, their loud, thumping music no-doubt drowned the noise out. He had sat down at his desk and wrote, spurred on by the sounds of laughter and shouts from the shore.

There was one voice that was decidedly absent for a long time; the one voice he wanted to hear.

Elliott wasn't sure what to feel about their interaction on the beach. He didn't know how to compartmentalize the mix of envy and desire seeing her had brought on. He couldn't understand why she had looked so sad when he left them to their celebrations. She knew him better than anyone else. She knew he would only ruin their fun. Bring her down. Bring them all down.

His pen scratched across the paper, words flowing through the ink without him having to think much. There was a scene between the main characters - a scene where Rebecca had been surprised to find that she was falling for Donnic, that her investigation into her father's murder was going off of the rails. It was full of noise, the scene - a crowded cafe with snippets of conversation about the coming war, with television interruptions talking about the latest gridball game. Music blaring from passing cars outside of the coffeehouse. The laughter of high school children just out of school, passing by and coming in for afternoon snacks.

Elliott had his own interruption when the music on the beach died suddenly, leaving nothing but soft, murmuring voices. He thought he might have heard Shane offer to walk Rory to the entrance of her farm; it was close to Marnie's ranch, after all. Elliott didn't hear her response even though he listened for it.

Footsteps and giggles faded off as the group left the beach, the sudden silence ringing so loudly that it was deafening. Elliott swallowed, surprised to find that he had been clenching his jaw for an unknown amount of time. Probably for the entirety of the party. Probably from the moment he walked away from her, her face falling.

He clicked the cap back onto his pen and set it aside, breathing deeply for a moment. A nightcap and then bed; that was what he needed. Before he could move toward the collection of wine bottles in his sparse kitchen, there was a knock on his door.

Elliott knew it was Rory before he opened the door to find her leaning heavily on the swollen door jam. "Rory."

She smiled sleepily at him, but there was something guarded about her expression. "Are you still mad at me?"

He blinked, surprised. "Why would I ever be upset with you?"

Rory rolled her eyes and pushed off of the wood, swaying without the assistance. Elliott reached out for her wrist, and she staggered into his arms, her face pressing against his chest. She smelled like liquor and pot, the sicky-sweet fumes making his eyes water. "You know why."

The kisses they had pretended never happened. His quick departure from the beach. Elliott chuckled and helped her inside, kicking the door closed behind him. "You need sleep."

"I'm sorry," she moaned, pitching toward the bed as she struggled out of her thin shift, the bathing suit beneath making Elliott's breath hitch. He'd seen her in less, but there was something about the cut that made his face heat.

"There's - there's nothing to apologize for," Elliott belatedly said, blinking back his overwhelming lust. She was on his bed, her face flushed with alcohol, her eyes glassy and heavy-lidded. He wasn't sure he would be able to keep his mind from leaking out of his ears if she didn't get under the covers soon.

Rory chuckled wryly and, as if sensing his thoughts, slid under the blankets, fluffing the pillow with unsteady, groping hands. She laid on her side, eyes blearily blinking at him. "I want it, you know," Rory murmured, her voice muffled slightly. "All I want to do right now is kiss you. Well - not _all_ I want to do, but I'll just... ungh."

Elliott swallowed. "I understand," he murmured, hoping that would be enough to appease her. "Sleep. You had an invigorating night."

Rory snorted, eyes closing. "Don't be a stranger," she mumbled, the words easing into soft snores without a single pause.

Elliott wasn't sure what she meant, exactly, but he did know that there was no way he could get into his tiny bed while she was there. When things got awkward at the farmhouse, the bed was large enough for him to retreat from her. That was an impossibility here.

Elliott sat at his desk again, taking a deep breath of sea breeze before uncapping his pen.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

The orchard had kept Rory busy all summer and was still endlessly needy in the autumn. She had Sebastian and Sam to help her, but there were so many trees that it made it nearly impossible to do anything properly in the four hours the boys worked with her. Finally, more on a whim than anything, she tossed her gloves down and shouted, “How much do you guys make at JojaMart?”

Sebastian looked down at her from his ladder, a peach in hand. “What?”

Sam, who was waiting to catch the fruit, also looked at her peculiarly. “Why?”

“What if I bought you out?” she continued. Between the orchard, the cellar winery Elliott helped her put together, the animals, and the small plot of pumpkins she would be harvesting next month, she had more money than she knew what to do with. She had stacks of gold notes wrapped up in plastic wrap under her bed, for Yoba's sake. “How much do you make there?”

Sam frowned. “Eight hundred and thirty a night.”

“Seven hundred,” Sebastian looked annoyed. “They’re paying you more than me?”

Rory interrupted the potential argument with, “Alright, I’ll pay you both 1,500 a day if you quit Joja and work here full-time. You'd have more responsibilities, though; I’ve been thinking of expanding the barn and coop and I can’t even begin to take care of it all on my own.”

Neither Sam nor Sebastian had to think about their answer. “Yes!” they exclaimed in unison. “This is real? This is really happening?” Sam pressed.

“Or is this a _wait and see_  thing?”

Rory shook her head. “You can start tomorrow morning. Or in two weeks if you want to give them noti-”

Sebastian snorted. “Morris and Joja can go fuck themselves.”

“Ditto.”

Rory blinked, surprised, and then smirked. “Alright then. Welcome aboard.”

 

* * *

 

September slipped by without notice, the cool wind biting through all of Rory’s clothing and leaving her a shivering mess anytime she went outside. Even so, she had chores to do and the cows did not care if her skin was ready to crawl away toward the closest furnace.

Rory put her pails down in her first barn, the cows mooing a pleased greeting at her as she entered. She milked them and changed their water, checking that their automated feeder was still working. Rory spent a little extra time scratching their nose bridges before moving on to the second, and newest, barn.

The pigs were already up and snuffling in the sty, squealing as she brought their slop. She patted their rumps before entering the barn to find her two goats, and their newborn kid, huddled in a bed of straw, chewing tiredly. She wanted nothing more than to pet the baby, but the mother had become territorial with the birth of her first child. Elliott had already been headbutted away from their hay-nest in warning and Rory was not interested in seeing the bruise she would get from such an attack.

Elliott’s had been bad enough. It had swelled his hip, the skin turning a dark purple with a tinge of green and yellow around the edges. Rory had apologized profusely for it, of course, but she had secretly been slightly, minutely glad for the sight of Elliott’s sharp hipbone and toned thigh when she’d inspected the damage.

She shook herself free from the thought, feeling her mouth water. Things had gotten complicated between them. More realistically, things had gotten _uncomplicated_ between them, which just made Rory feel worse. She wanted him more than she’d wanted anything in her life; she knew he felt at least some of the heat she was wallowing in daily.

Even so, they’d fallen into a perfect routine of best friends who went on friend-dates, long walks near the river hand-in-hand, and nights spent wrapped up against one another. It might not have been a conventional friendship, but it certainly wasn’t a physical relationship, either.

Rory groaned, checking the feeder and changing the water before returning to the house. The porch was laden-down with pails of milk and baskets of eggs; the boys had evidently arrived for chicken-duty. Rory lugged the items in one at a time, careful not to spill, only to find Elliott coming out of the bedroom. He ran a hand through his hair, green eyes landing on her. He smiled lazily, as he did every morning, and murmured, “You were supposed to wake me.”

“You look so peaceful when you dream, I couldn’t bear it,” she replied with a smirk, repeating a cheesy line from the movie they’d seen at the Zuzu Cinema the previous night.

He chuckled, voice thick with sleep, and walked toward her. The curtains were drawn, but there was still a glow of light filtering through, illuminating his skin as he strode toward her. She braced herself for the morning ritual that took the most restraint she could muster. She raised her face to Elliott and he placed a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead, a hand sliding over the back of her arm.

Elliott pulled away before Rory could cave to her desires, which was both a blessing and a curse. She went about cleaning the eggs while Elliott bottled the milk. He finished before she did and began making coffee. She tried not to look at all of his exposed skin, at how he looked like a sleep-tousled underwear model, but it was a losing battle.

“I have something to tell you,” he said suddenly, his tone unusually serious for so early in the morning. Rory almost dropped the egg she was rinsing.

This was it. This was where he gave up on her.

She set the egg into her clean basket and wiped her hands on a dishtowel, turning to watch the side of his face that she could see. “What’s up?”

“I….” Elliott trailed off, looking for the right words. Finally, he turned away from the coffee pot and took her hands in his. “I finished the book.”

It took Rory a moment to process the words, but once she did, she squeezed his hands and let out a strange yip of excitement. “You did?! Elliott, this is amazing!” She threw herself into his arms, and he held her close, his face buried in her hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?! We could have celebrated in Zuzu last night! _Elliott - you finished your book!”_

“I planned to surprise you at the reading this evening, but I wanted to keep your reaction to myself,” he admitted, breath warm on her neck.

“Reaction… wait, reading?”

“In the library,” he said, finally pulling back with a grin. “It is only the first chapter, but I had hoped you might come with me. I… I would like you to be there.”

“Of course,” she breathed, stunned he would even think she might not go. “What time?”

“Five,” he replied quickly, squeezing her hands again. “I should go home and prepare if that is acceptable for you. I am not very good at public speaking. I doubt anyone will come, but-”

“People will come!” Rory exclaimed, ever the cheerleader. “Get going, I’ll see you at five.” Elliott, thrumming with excitement, kissed her cheek and went into the bedroom to get dressed. He kissed her other cheek before leaving and Rory bit her lip to keep from dragging him back to her. But she didn’t and he vanished in a flash, leaving her reeling with excitement and anxiety.

He’d done it. He’d finished his book.

She worried her lower lip. He might be leaving Pelican Town. He might be leaving her.

 

* * *

 

Rory had spent her afternoon going between businesses and homes to invite the neighbors to Elliott’s reading. She was probably overstepping, but she couldn't help it - she wanted his reading to be a success and to fill him with the confidence of a job well done.

Rory was surprised when she realized she wasn't sure what the book was really about. A murder mystery, she told those who asked, keeping things vague and pretending it was part of the intrigue.

Four-thirty arrived, and Rory found herself, for once, early. Elliott was there, of course, and speaking quietly with Gunther near the museum's entrance. She seemed to have caught his eye, though, because his gaze swept toward her and his smile was breathtaking. Rory had to contain the giddiness, giving him a cool smirk and a wink as she went into the main room of the library. The tables had been set up facing a desk with a small stack of books. Elliott’s books.

Rory took a seat at the front table, absently picking at her nails as she waited. Others filtered in slowly - Leah, Marnie, Caroline, and Lewis. They were followed by Abigail and Sebastian, the former of which looked thrilled; the latter, not as much. The fisherman, Willy, arrived close to five and sat beside Rory, giving her a knowing smile. Rory wasn’t sure what he thought he knew, but she assumed it was what everyone else thought was going on between Rory and Elliott.

All of the strange looks made her skin crawl. She knew it was only because they had denied it from the very early beginning. She knew how they looked together. And, she was sure, it was fairly obvious what her feelings were when they were together. It seemed the only people she was trying to fool was herself and Elliott. It didn’t seem to be going so well on either front.

Elliott joined the group, looking over those assembled with surprise. He obviously hadn’t expected so many people based on the faint flush on his cheeks. He cleared his throat and grabbed one of the books. “Thank you all for coming, it means so much to see you all.” His eyes met Rory’s and she smiled faintly, knowing she was blushing but not caring. He made everything else disappear the moment his eyes met hers. “This is my first novel; not the one I intended to write when I moved here to pursue this career, but a good friend of mine thought a mystery would be a noble pursuit. So, without further ado - Smoke Signals, Chapter One.

“The room descended into silence as she entered. Rooms had a tendency to do that. Rebecca cast her eyes around the posh dining hall, taking in every detail, every face that turned toward her. Their expressions opened like flowers in the spring - full of color and sweetness. Rebecca had never appreciated the painted sugar of the country club, but she had an important date with an important man. Her father’s murderer.”

 

* * *

Elliott

* * *

 

He had sold five of the ten copies of his book that he had brought to the reading - five more than he had expected to sell. Everyone seemed properly intrigued by the first chapter - and by Rebecca, as well. “She sounds familiar,” Willy had chuckled, patting Elliott’s shoulder as he left.

Leah had been nothing short of thrilled for him, of course, but he felt terribly for the slight sting behind her eyes when he pulled out of her hug quickly. She left shortly after, clutching one of his books to her chest.

Rory had waited at her desk until everyone else had filtered out, her lips quirked into a charming simper. Once he was alone with her, she slipped around the table and hugged him tightly. “Did you like it?”

“Elliott, it’s fantastic,” she replied, pulling back only slightly, her hands on his shoulders. “I want to buy three of them.”

Elliott snorted and went to grab the book he had been reading from, handing it to her. “Begin with one, perhaps? This has your name on it, I believe.”

Rory frowned. “I want to pay for it!”

“Never,” he responded easily, taking one of her hands in his. “Do you have plans this evening?”

Rory quirked a brow at him, raising the book. “Hello, I have a novel to devour in a hot bath.”

The mental image was quick and all-consuming, making Elliott blink back the idea of her in a bath reading his novel. Naked. Reading his words that she inspired. He smiled and shook his head, eyes finally meeting hers again. “I was thinking of working on some poems this evening. Would you mind if I worked at the farm?”

“Are you asking me that ridiculous question to test me, Elliott?"

Caught, he realized. By the smirk on her face, she knew that he knew it. Elliott was fairly sure that Rory would never tell him to leave. Elliott was fairly certain they were technically living together, anyway.

"Oh," Rory continued, "but you’re on your own while I take a bath and start this book. Fair warning, I don’t plan on sleeping until I finish it, either.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious; he couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. “Then I will go to the shack and get the necessities.”

She saluted him with the book and sauntered out, leaving him to watch her hips swing as she did. He was sure she knew that he stared every time she walked away - he was fairly sure she did it purposely.

Not that Elliott minded at all.


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory couldn’t stop yawning when she got home. She was exhausted, but she would be damned if she didn’t start Elliott’s book. Bumping around the kitchen to make a pot of coffee, Rory kept looking back at the blue hardback on her kitchen table. Elliott had finally done it. There was a physical copy of his soul in print, and she got to be one of the first people to read it.

She got a cup of coffee and sat at her new dining room table, tracing the design in the wood while staring at the hardback. She would be lying if she said that the book didn’t cause some dread. He’d be leaving her. He’d be going back to the city. He had no reason to stay in Pelican Town; there was nothing for him here. And if his first chapter was any indication, the book was going to do well, and he would be pulled from her anyway.

She drank her coffee morosely until a quick knock on her door alerted her that Elliott had arrived. He came in without prompting, as was his custom, carrying a messenger bag with his writing materials. Elliott set his bag down on one of the chairs and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Have you started it?”

“Not yet,” she admitted, forcing a smile she didn’t quite feel. Her thoughts had descended too far into the maudlin. “I read in the bath, remember?”

He chuckled and glanced toward the bedroom. “I am going to change. Would you like me to draw the bath?”

He was too sweet for words. Rory got to her feet and stretched, grabbing the book and leaving her empty coffee mug. “I’m not helpless, you know,” she teased, walking through the bedroom and into the bathroom. She shut the door and began to strip, listening to Elliott opening the bottom drawer of her dresser, which she’d dedicated to his clothing.

 _How are we not having sex?_ she thought absently, tossing her hair into a bun on top of her head and starting the bath. _Oh, right. You were an idiot and told him you only wanted friendship._ Rory grabbed the novel from the sink, leaning on the counter and flipping it open. It was signed - but it wasn’t the nondescript signature Elliott had put on others' books.

 _Rory,_  
_Is it terrible for me to admit that I am glad you came to Pelican Town? I wish the circumstances had been more pleasant, but I find myself more selfish than I realized. You have changed everything - you have changed me! - and for the better, Rory. Always for the better._  
_Yours eternally,_  
_Elliott_

Her hands were trembling by the time she turned to the dedication page.

_To my Muse and her sharp mind and soft heart, her sly smirk, and her gemstone eyes. Darling, this book is yours as much as it is mine._

Rory set the book slowly, swallowing. She loved him and, fool that he was, he loved her.

_Is it worth ruining what you have?_

She sighed and turned the taps off, grabbed the book, and slipped into the scalding water. Rory opened it to the first chapter, careful not to look at the sweet words directed at her; she wasn’t sure she could keep it together if she saw them again.

 

* * *

  **Elliott**

* * *

 

It had been nearly three hours before the sound of the tub draining in the next room broke him from his trance. His pen stilled in the middle of a stanza, hesitating. If he focused hard enough, he could hear her moving through the room, drying off, stepping into clothing, putting on her moisturizers and hair tonics. The noises were all very methodical, very rhythmic. The only difference between that moment and every moment he’d listened to her move about the bathroom before was that she wasn’t humming. He wasn’t sure if that was alarming; perhaps she was caught up in thoughts about the book?

Rory emerged, the novel in hand. She was wearing one of his shirts, one she had procured as a night shift somewhere along the way. The blue pinstripes looked better on her than they ever had on him, and something was pleasing about her wearing his clothing. Rory crawled onto the bed, sitting back on her haunches to stare at him. Her expression was unreadable, which made alarm bells go off in Elliott’s head.

“So,” Rory murmured, putting the book down on her side table. “Rebecca is me.”

“Allegedly,” Elliott smiled, unable to help it.

Her lips didn’t quirk upward as he had expected them to. “And her father’s supposed killer. He isn’t the killer.”

“You have to keep reading to find out.”

She looked impatient. “He’s you, right?” Elliott’s heart fluttered. Before he could answer, Rory pressed on, “Donnic has feelings for Rebecca but doesn’t say anything because Rebecca is struggling with her demons. Rebecca has feelings for him but won’t make a move because she’s afraid of getting hurt again, being left again.”

Elliott swallowed. “Yes.”

Rory watched him for a time before looking down at her folded legs, her fingers anxiously picking at her cuticles. “I don’t want to be Rebecca.”

Elliott’s eyebrows furrowed. “I do not understand.”

Rory abrupting grabbed his pen and notepad, putting them on her side table before sliding onto his lap. Elliott’s heart hammered in his chest as he watched her, as her arms settled around his neck. Her mouth twitched slightly into a smile. “I don’t want to be an idiot. I don’t want to push you away.”

“You could never push me away,” he replied softly, his hands sliding to her waist.

She rolled her eyes and leaned in, whispering, “This is where you kiss me, idiot.”

His body moved before his mind realized what was happening, pulling her into him. Elliott’s mouth found her jaw first, kissing gently to her mouth, her soft, full lips responding. He kept the kisses gentle, his hands firmly on her waist, waiting for her to move things further - which she did. Rory’s tongue slid between his lips, bumping across his as it swept through his mouth. She, too, was keeping thing slow, her hands gingerly running down his shoulders and caressing over his arms. She let out a little moan when his hands lowered, sliding up the hem of her shirt.

Rory pulled back much too soon, and Elliott prepared himself for another denial. Her breath was coming a little faster, her eyes dark and full of wanting. She met his gaze and murmured, “I want to take things slow. Is that… is that okay?”

Elliott let out a small breath of relief. “Of course.”

She smiled, genuinely smiled, and then her mouth returned to him.

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory hadn’t finished the book as she’d planned to - she kept getting distracted by the handsome, mostly naked man in her bed. She wanted nothing more than to pull his underwear off and ride him for as long as they could last, but she was good; she kept her hands above his waist and her shirt on. Evidently months of denying herself were paying off.

When her alarm went off at five, Elliott groaned and looped an arm around her waist, pulling her back to him after she swiped her phone to turn it off. “Come back,” he mumbled into her hair.

She chuckled, snuggling into his grasp. There was nothing she would rather do, to be fair, but she had responsibilities. “I need to get the animals fed and let out,” she murmured groggily. She knew she shouldn’t have stayed up so late - four hours of sleep was not nearly enough anymore. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I’ll make coffee,” he replied, releasing her waist begrudgingly.

“Stay in bed,” she ordered, turning to kiss him. “And be prepared for snuggles when I get back.”

Elliott’s eyes were already drooping, his hand on her thigh in an almost possessive caress. She grinned and kissed his forehead before slipping out of bed and tossing her clothing on. _Damn animals,_ she thought without heat, moving sleepily into the dew-speckled dawn.

She drifted into the cold and waved toward Sebastian and Sam. They had finally stopped alerting her when they arrived, using their time to tend to the chickens and orchard. Part of Rory was looking forward to winter and the lack of tree harvesting. She could take a much-needed break and have the boys take over her animal chores once the snows started.

 _What in the world will you do with yourself if you don’t have any chores?_ she thought as she settled herself in the barn to begin her milking. She remembered Elliott sprawled in her bed, mouth opened slightly in deep breaths, and grinned. _I can think of one thing to keep me occupied…_.

Maybe she would take a vacation to Zuzu. Maybe Elliott would come, too.

She finished with the animals and headed back inside. She was wide-awake, the work and cold outside making her forget her exhaustion. Even so, she stripped down to her underwear and slid back into the bed, curling herself around Elliott’s back. He awoke instantly, shivering at the touch of her chilled skin. “You are like ice,” he chastised softly, turning to draw her into his arms.

They dozed like that until a sharp rap on the front door startled them apart. Rory groaned helplessly. “It’s probably Sam,” she mumbled, tossing the blankets back.

Before she could slide out of bed, Elliott wrapped a hand around her arm and gently pulled her back. “Rest,” he murmured, kissing her forehead. He slipped out from under the covers, wandering toward the bedroom archway, not bothering to put anything over his underwear.

“Elliott,” she scolded, smirking. She had noticed a few moments where something close to possessiveness had moved over his face when he saw her with Sebastian or Sam, but he had never said or done anything to make her think it was more than passing envy.

He grinned at her, a hand smoothing over the plane of his stomach. “Perhaps knowing about us definitively might lead to more sleep for the both of us. Unless you do not wish for the others to know, in which case-"

Rory leaned back on her elbows. “Of course I want that. Just… be nice. I'm not used to this unrequited love-triangle thing.”

“I can be nice if it is what you wish,” he replied, his voice dropping lower, his smile somehow predatory, wolfish. Sexy as hell. Her body twitched in the anticipation. Rory still wasn’t sure how she planned on going slow with a creature of sheer perfection.

He left the room, still not bothering with clothing, and she heard the front door open with a squeal. There were voices, low and mumbled. Rory couldn’t make anything out, but she thought she might have heard a woman.

When Elliott returned to the bedroom, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” she asked, heart sinking.

“I sincerely hope you were serious when you said you wanted people to know about us,” he began, smile wry. “That was Marnie coming around to tell you Rheta gave birth to a foal last night. Once it is old enough, she thought it might be a companion for Josie.”

Rory swallowed, all of the information clogging her brain for a moment. “A foal… wait, Marnie?” She stared at him, at how uncomfortable he suddenly looked, and then shook her head with an amused chuckle. “Well, I suppose everyone else in town is going to know by noon.”

“You do not mind?” Elliott pressed.

Rory wasn’t sure if she had seen him that anxious before. She reached out to him, and he came to her, sitting against the headboard and drawing her into his arms. His chin rested on her head, and she grinned, unable to help it. “Seriously? It's not like we were sneaking around with this weird sleeping arrangement - people knew. And now they'll _know_ know, and the rumor mill will stop in a week or so.”

Elliott hummed his approval, a hand sliding over Rory’s bare arm, caressing across her wrist and locking her fingers in his. “Might I ask another silly question?” At Rory’s raised brow, he continued, “Are you happy here? In Pelican Town.”

Rory let out a soft sigh. “I am, surprisingly. Most of that has to do with you, of course, but… I like the land. I like having the animals and the orchard. I'm even growing attached to the weirdos here," she added with a chuckle. "I could see this being life, at least for a while.”

“I think so, as well,” he murmured, making her heart jolt into her throat. "I was even wondering if, perhaps, you might want another farmhand? I wouldn't need money, of course, but a few dinners would be most appreciated."

Rory turned her face upward, nearly smacking Elliott’s nose with her forehead, eyes wide. His teasing tone and brilliant smile made her breath hitch. She sat up, turning to him with a spreading grin. “You’re going to stay?”

“Nothing could pull me from your side,” he replied easily. “Not while you would have me.”

Rory rolled her eyes, ducking in to press her lips against his cheek. Her heart was thrumming; she needed to get off of the bed and away from him if she was planning on sticking to her resolve. “Now that you’ve made my day, how about breakfast? I can show you my renowned waffle making ability.”

“Renowned, you say?” he grinned, hands sliding down her ribs to her waist.

Her chest tightened at his touch, his fingertips causing cold electricity to race through her veins. “Renowned only because I somehow constantly fuck them up. I don’t know how people get them to look like waffles! Mine always look like sad snowflakes.”

“It _is_ nearly winter,” he allowed graciously, his cheeks dimpling as he did. He kissed her one last time before reluctantly releasing her, his green eyes watching as she slid off of the bed and reached for her robe. “It is rather warm in here,” he murmured, lips twitching upward. "It might be better not to cover up."

Rory’s hand hesitated on the robe, and she smirked, returning it to its hook. “I suppose you're right."

 

* * *

 

With Sam and Sebastian taking the orchard fruit into town for her, and her primary food source being the small plot of vegetables in the back of her home, Rory hadn't seen the immediate ramifications of Marnie's gossip - but Elliott had.

Elliott was heading home for the first time in a few days, hands in pockets, eyes watching the thick, dark clouds moving in from over the ocean. He hadn't even managed to make it to the saloon before a shout broke him out of his reverie.

"Elliott! Elliott, wait!"

Elliott took a deep breath and turned. Leah was jogging toward him with a smile that was so plastered on it hurt to look at. "Hi," she said sheepishly.

"Good afternoon, Leah," he returned, trying to sound cheerful - trying to seem as if he didn't know where the conversation was going.

"Grabbing Rory's fish for her?"

Elliott blinked. "I... I was merely heading to the shack."

Leah flushed a hand fluttering to her mouth. "Oh, I didn't -- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sound-" she let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I know this is... silly. I guess I wanted to say that... I'm glad you and Rory are together. You seem happy. I'm just... glad you're happy."

Elliott wasn't sure what to say. "Leah-"

She waved her hand, swallowing, and forced the painful smile again. "Don't worry, really. I'll see you guys at the Festival?"

Elliott blinked. It was nearly the Harvest Festival. How had he forgotten? Time, it seemed, had become off-kilter over the past year. "Y-yes, I... we will see you there."

Leah smiled, the expression looking slightly more genuine, and waved as she turned on her heel, walking away.

Elliott let out a heavy breath and continued his trek to the beach. He had only planned to come back for more clothing and some extra notebooks, but the broken, sad rowboat caught his eye. He stared at it, calculating. He's always intended to restore it, but other things had snuck into his free time allotment.

Elliott had a problem with being able to follow through with things. College. His book. The boat.

Elliott rubbed a hand over the back of his neck before turning back toward town. The saloon was thumping with loud country music. It looked like most of the village had filtered in, and all eyes were suddenly on him.

 _Friday,_ he realized too late. _It is Friday._

"Elliott!" Marnie called, her cheeks already flush with drink. "Elliott, come over here!"

"Leave the boy alone, Marnie," Lewis chided her softly, giving Elliott an apologetic shrug. "Go on, before she remembers you're here."

Elliott smiled softly, nodding his thanks, before slipping around the bar to sidle up beside Gus' elbow. "Gus, might I ask a favor?"

"Elliott! I just heard!"

Elliott flinched. Of course. "Might I borrow your truck for the evening? I can have it back to you tomorrow morning."

Gus' eyes widened before scanning the room. He lowered his voice, setting down the glass he had been wiping. "Are you two getting married?"

"What?" Elliott asked, much louder than he intended.

"You asked if you could borrow the truck-" Elliott's brows furrowed, still confused, "-to go Zuzu, right?"

Elliott shook his head quickly, eyes scanning along the bar. No one seemed to notice any of this, thank Yoba, and Elliott hissed, "That is not -- I merely wished to take the rowboat to the farm to make repairs."

Gus was silent for a moment before laughing, a bellowing one that made Pam and Harvey, who were closest, turn to look. "I'm sorry, Elliott," he said, taking his keys from his pocket and handing them to Elliott. "You two just seem natural. Gotta trap 'em before they get some sense, huh?" he chuckled again, clapping Elliott on the shoulder. "At least I didn't think you two were getting hitched 'cause you got her pregnant."

Harvey was still listening, evidently, because his eyes widened comically behind his glasses. "She's pregnant? Rory's pregnant?"

"No-" Elliott tried quickly - and in vain.

"Wait, what?" Abigail asked, coming to a sharp stop beside them, the crumpled notes in her hand evidently representing a round of drinks for the kids. _"Who's_ pregnant?"

"Abby, you're pregnant?!" Jodi snapped her head around the corner of her booth.

"No one is pregnant!" Elliott called loudly, heart thundering in panic.

"Rory's pregnant!" Abigail exclaimed at the same time, looking horrified.

"No one is pregnant!" Elliott tried again, defensively, when all eyes turned his way. "No one is pregnant, I simply need to borrow a truck so I can fix a rowboat!"

Gus cleared his throat and nodded toward the door. Elliott escaped the bar, ears red and neck burning, the only sound being the off-key jukebox.

 

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory sighed, her brow aching from eyebrow tweezing and her face still stinging from the acid peel. She had gotten out of the habit of self-care somewhere around the time her mom had died. It had been a ritual of theirs - a once-a-week pampering, her mother called it. Rory cleared her throat and glanced down at the assortment of beauty products in front of her. Her makeup didn't match her skin anymore - she had tanned so much over the summer that she barely recognized old pictures of herself online. She had filled out with muscle and tone to the point that a new wardrobe had been needed twice since she had arrived.

And the dark circles under her eyes were hardly noticeable, even without concealer. A lot of it probably had to do with diet, she would concede. Real food wasn't nearly as tasty, but living off of vodka and cheese puffs hadn't done much for her body or complexion. Not to mention sleep - it had been much easier to drift off lately.

Rory sighed and grabbed a nail polish bottle, shaking it while she wandered toward the kitchen. It was too early to take care of the animals for the night - it was certainly too soon for her to harvest the last bit of pumpkins. She wanted them fresh for the Festival the following week.

Time dragged when Elliott wasn't around.

"Gross," she said aloud, grimacing. "Dependant, much?" She shook the nail polish bottle again, about to sit at the kitchen table to paint her newly trimmed, shaped nails, when she heard something shattering outside.

"What the fuck," Rory groaned, putting the bottle down and getting to her feet, tying her robe around her as she went to the door. "Elliott, what did you break?" she asked herself, hoping it wasn't the ugly birdbath Robin bought her for some unknown reason. It would not look good for the hideous thing to go missing two days after Robin bequeathed it.

But there was no Elliott, only a scraggly orange cat sitting on the wooden deck.

"Oh," she said, not sure how she felt about this sudden development. And then, looking further down the porch, she saw what had shattered - the stained glass windchimes Leah had made her. "No," she moaned. The damned cat probably knocked it down when it jumped up the railing, she assumed. "This looks even worse than if Elliott broke that damned birdbath."

Rory looked down at the cat who was watching her with impossibly wide, yellow eyes. She sighed again and opened the door, still regarding the cat. "Well? Get in."

The cat only stared at her, impassive.

Rory sighed exasperatedly and walked back to it, leaning down to scoop the cat into her arms. Rory, a novice to cat-care, thought that it was the best idea. The cat, unfortunately, did not agree. It yowled hotly in her ear and bolted out of her hands, over her shoulder, and springboarded off of her back into the house.

Rory wasn't quite sure what had happened for a few beats, all she knew is that the cat was gone and replaced with pain. "Shit," she cried, looking at the angry, blooming scratches. They ran, uninterrupted, from the fleshy points of her palms to her robe's hem at her forearm. "I hate cats," she muttered, gritting her teeth and entering the house. She pushed the door closed behind her with more force than she intended, shuffling toward the sink. The hot pain lessened under the cold well water gushing through her faucet. "How do these hurt so bad?" she asked the ceiling. The ceiling did not answer, but she heard a hiss from somewhere in the bedroom, then something breaking.

Rory huffed, leaning over the sink until all she could hear was water.

 

* * *

 

Elliott returned home - Rory started at the realization that he had become so permanent a fixture that she considered this his home - before sundown. When he came in, he was paler than usual.

"What happened?" Rory asked, immediately on edge and forgetting she was in the middle of painting a nail. A drop of coral polish dripped onto the table, but she ignored it.

Elliott shook his head, hanging a pair of keys on a hook by the door. "It has been... an odd night. Nothing to worry yourself about."

Rory narrowed her eyes. "Are those Gus' keys?"

Elliott moved toward her, kissing the top of her head before sitting down. "Do you remember the rowboat?"

Rory's smile twitched up at the corner. "Obviously, we only see it twice a week. What about it?"

"Would you mind if I began work on it here? On the farm. I understand if the animals would be bothered, I should have thought it through before bringing-"

Rory grabbed his chin and dragged him into a kiss. She didn't pull back before saying, "Quit being stupid. Of course you can."

Elliott smiled against her lips before kissing her again. He only stopped to shout, "What?!" and duck under the table.

Rory blinked, confused, before snorting. "Oh, yeah, a feral cat is running around here somewhere. He, or she, doesn't seem to like people."

"I have no idea where he has gone now, but just moments ago, he was trying to climb my leg," Elliott muttered, rubbing at his slacks.

"Hurts, huh?" Rory asked, returning to painting her nails.


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory awoke with a tight, sharp feeling in her chest, almost as if she was suffocating. When she opened her eyes, she came face-to-face with a pair of yellow eyes in a gnarled, orange face.

"Fuck, man!" she shouted, rousing Elliott immediately. The cat on her chest, however, did not move. It sat and blinked, off-center nostrils flaring with each measured breath.

"He likes you," Elliott mumbled sleepily.

"He's trying to smother me," she groaned. Now that she knew it was the cat, things weren't nearly as dire, but the thing was still heavy for being mostly skin and bones. "Or checking to see if I died so he can eat me."

The cat blinked. Rory narrowed her eyes at it.

"He probably only wants breakfast, and perhaps to get a second shot at a first impression," Elliott hummed, reaching out with a tentative hand. The cat sniffed his fingers for a moment before begrudgingly leaning into them. Elliott stroked the cat's dirty head as if it wasn't repulsive. "Would you like me to bathe him later?"

"Bathe... a cat? _This_ cat? You're gonna lose an arm."

Elliott's smile turned mischevious. "You are afraid of him."

"Need I remind you that he raptor-clawed my arms to pieces?" she asked incredulously. "And made mincemeat of your leg!"

Elliott was trying to keep it together, and he was making a very valiant effort, but Rory could see the crinkles beginning around his eyes, the telltale sign that he wanted to laugh at her. She grinned at him and added, "This thing was sent here as a test, to see if we could handle our first argument, you know that right?"

And there it was. Elliott's laughter came through like a cannon. The cat, rightly so, tore away from the noise, leaving lovely scratches across Rory's ribs.

"Damnit," she groaned.

Elliott, still laughing, kissed her cheek.

 

* * *

 

The Harvest Festival preparations had been underway for hours before Rory and Elliott made it into town. Rory had given the boys a well-deserved week off - paid, of course - after the intense fall harvests. Sam and Sebastian were thrilled and chose to use their freedom to go to a music festival in Zuzu. Pictures of barely-dressed crowds, Sam's drunken goofing off, and them surrounded by gorgeous ladies had replaced their usual music-filled profiles. Even though she loved seeing them enjoying themselves, having the boys gone meant Rory and Elliott were breaking their backs tending to the three barns and two coops alone. Not to mention the pumpkin patch.

They had borrowed Gus' truck - for the second time in as many weeks - to bring the final orange squashes down for the Festival. They had just begun to help Mayor Lewis arrange them at the carving station when Gus appeared, taking Rory's elbow. "Rory, can I chat with you for a second?"

Rory glanced over at Elliott before smiling awkwardly. "Sure?" She followed Gus away from prying ears and asked softly, "What's going on? Is this about us borrowing the truck all the time? I'm sorry, we really shouldn-"

"It is about the truck, but not that," he chortled. "I was wondering if you or Elliott would want to buy it? I don't use it anymore - I don't have any family, and I like walking around the town better than driving, so... why keep it when you would have more use for it?"

Rory opened her mouth and then closed it again. Having a truck wouldn't be that bad of an idea, especially when Sam and Sebastian were on vacation and she needed to get things into town. It would undoubtedly make the four miles between her home and town easier when the winter gusts started. And she had so much surplus money that she was perpetually anxious and guilty, trying to find ways to spend it in, and on, the town.

"Yes," she said, ignoring the voice in the back of her head attempting to make her feel guilty for taking the man's means of transportation. "I would love to."

"Perfect!" Gus exclaimed, looking thrilled. "Good. Now, she's a little old and a little slow, but you know that. I don't think she's worth too much-"

"Would 25,000 work?" she asked, knowing it was a generous offer.

Gus looked flustered. "Rory, that's too much-"

"I'll bring the notes tomorrow afternoon, is that okay?" Rory continued before he could protest again, "Is that enough time for you to get the title?"

"Oh, I have it, I have it," he said quickly, nodding. "Yes, um. Tomorrow is perfect. Keep the truck tonight, too!" he added, grinning. "It's as good as yours. If you want the title now-"

"Tomorrow," Rory repeated, trying to appease him with a smile. "Now go get that ale table stocked, 'cause I am not leaving your booth all night," she teased, turning back to the careful pumpkin stacking.

"What was that all about?" Mayor Lewis asked when she got back, his voice weary and slightly breathless from hoisting the massive globes.

"Oh, the usual," Rory shrugged, jumping into the bed of the truck to roll the ones in the back forward. "He offered to sell me this beautiful truck, and I accepted. No big deal."

Elliott looked thrilled; Mayor Lewis, oddly, looked relieved.

"Oh, good! I'm glad he already apologized for the pregnancy scare announcement," Lewis said, pleased. "I would have been so mad if he waited until now to say sorry."

Elliott's face went pale, and Rory was sure hers had gone red. "Pregnancy... what?"

"Rory, this was a misunderstanding," Elliott tried, voice soothing but edged in panic.

But Mayor Lewis was louder. "He didn't apologize? I need to have a word with him, then." Lewis sighed. "Gus let it slip about the pregnancy scare last Friday. I'm sorry, it's deeply personal, and I wish I hadn't been there to hear. Poor Elliott, the devastation on your face-"

Rory was reasonably sure her eyes were about to fall out of their sockets. "What?" she repeated, but the words came out quietly, darkly.

Elliott shook his head, in an undertone saying to her, "It is a misunderstanding; it was not at all what happened."

Rory took three deep breaths and counted to ten. When she felt as though she could breathe again, she rolled the rest of the pumpkins to the edge of the truck bed. When the pumpkins were stacked, she jumped out of the bed, slammed the gate, and raised an eyebrow at Elliott. "Wanna take a walk?"

"Yes," he said quickly, relief washing over his face.

The park was empty, unlike the town square, so they sat down beside the old Community Center. Elliott was anxious to begin, but before he could, Rory kissed his cheek and took his hands. "Deep breath."

He took that breath, and two more, before squeezing her hands and explaining everything.

"So... Harvey thought he heard that I was pregnant?"

"Yes."

"And then Abigail yelled that out loud."

Sigh. "Correct."

"And then you shouted that I wasn't pregnant, and somehow people took that to mean that... I miscarried or something?"

"I assume so, yes," Elliott mumbled.

Rory sat silently for a moment before snorting. And then cackling, the harsh brays leaving her mouth before she could stop them. Elliott's eyes were wide as he watched her gasp for breath, but his smile widened until he, too, was laughing.

"What I wouldn't have given to see their faces! Yoba, these people are the weirdest, most adorably meddling people in the world."

"And they cherish you," he added.

"Yeah," she chuckled, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. "They're alright, I guess." She took a moment before turning her gaze to Elliott. "You know you have to go explain this to literally everyone now, right?"

"I thought that perhaps I would only need to tell Marnie and Caroline," he hummed.

Rory nodded, patting his knee. "Perfect plan - get to it."

 

* * *

 

Elliott had finally left her side around midnight, but only after Rory threatened to lock him out of the house if he didn't go socialize. Rory adored having him around, but sometimes she needed silence. Granted, the middle of a festival wasn't the best place to seek quiet, but the background noise and the delighted shrieks from the haunted maze was somehow a relief, much like Zuzu's evening traffic was.

"Rory? Do you have a minute?"

Rory steeled herself, turning toward Leah. Elliott had told her about the awkward conversation in the middle of town a week ago, but Rory had somehow expected that she'd escaped Leah's sad-twinged sweetness. "Hey, Leah," she chirped, sounding pitchy and nervous. Rory cleared her throat, trying again. "I tried one of those mushroom fritters you made, and I basically want to come live with you forever."

Leah's face broke into a genuine smile. She was goddamn radiant when she smiled like that, almost as if every ounce of sunshine made it into her skin. Rory was momentarily entranced. "Oh, I am so glad you liked them! I can give you the recipe-"

"No way," Rory laughed, leaning in, "I could never work the magic you do. I'm barely trusted to reheat leftovers in the microwave."

Leah's expression softened. "Well, I'll always make an extra batch for you, what do you say?"

Rory wasn't exactly sure what was happening, where the sudden kinship came from, or if Rory was even genuine with hers. Did she merely feel bad for the girl, the one she unknowingly ousted? She wasn't sure, and that worried her.

The concern must have shown on her face because Leah looked down at her feet, cleared her throat, and then returned Rory's gaze. "Can I be blunt?" Leah asked in an undertone. At Rory's nod, she stepped a little closer, voice lowering even further. "I'm honestly glad you two found each other. You make each other happy, and... that's a thing to be celebrated. I just..." she faltered, jaw clenching. "I'm just sad. I know I shouldn't take it out on you, this isn't your fault, I just... a small, minute part of me kind of dislikes you right now. Not forever!" she added quickly. "I just... I feel like I need to have some time before I can be completely... over it."

Rory bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. "That is more than fair." The women watched one another for a moment before Rory cleared her throat. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. And I'm going to try to make it up to you."

"Oh! No, that's not-" Leah began, but her word died off when Rory glanced past her.

"Hey, how's your arm?" Rory asked suddenly.

"How's...?"

"Your arm. Are you good at throwing things?"

Leah frowned at her. "Not particularly...?"

"Even better. Follow me." Rory didn't glance back to see if Leah was following - she was sure the suspense was too much for the curious woman to ignore. She made her way past a few tourists from Calico Desert to where Mayor Lewis was standing beside a dunk tank.

"Lewis, do you think I could relieve Creepo the Clown up there for a minute?"

Lewis looked at her, perplexed. "You want to get in the tank?"

"Yep, and I want Leah to dunk me. As many throws as it takes. I'll pay," she added, knowing that the game revenue they made went into town restoration.

Lewis didn't seem to understand, but he didn't need to, evidently, because he tapped on the glass where Harvey was sitting in a poorly put together clown costume. "Break time!"

"But I just got here!" Harvey's muffled voice returned.

"Just go get some wine for a minute, Harvey," Rory groaned. She impatiently waited while Harvey took his time getting out of the tank. She supposed she shouldn't be so annoyed - he was wearing insanely large shoes, after all. When he was finally out of the way, thumping toward Gus' drink booth, Rory climbed up the little plastic ladder to sit on the hard metal seat.

She heard Lewis calling Leah over, and watched through the warped plastic screen as the redhead walked toward her, eyebrows raised. Lewis handed her three baseballs, and her eyes lit up in understanding. "Rory, this really isn't-"

"Throw the ball!" Rory called back, clapping her hands to enunciate each word.

"Throw the ball!" the nearby tourists called drunkenly.

Leah flushed, but she let out a defeated sigh, tossing the ball halfheartedly. It didn't come close to the target and Rory booed loudly, hoping the obnoxiousness of it might spur her into being serious. "Come on, Leah, put some heart into it!"

Leah pursed her lips at Rory and threw the next ball. Nothing.

By the time Leah prepared to toss the twenty-fourth ball, the entire town seemed to have filled in to watch the attempts. Or they wanted to hear Rory gently taunting Leah, and Leah trying to throw the ball through tears of laughter.

The twenty-fifth ball soared, strong and true. Rory didn't see it hit, but she certainly felt it when the metal seat swung out from beneath her, and she plunged into the cold water. She gasped and huffed as she broke the surface, the icy, chlorinated water shooting up her nose. Rory was laughing hysterically, wiping at her eyes, and snorting. She was reasonably sure snot was streaming down her face.

When she finally made it out of the tank - she felt even worse for being annoyed at Harvey; the steps were nearly impossible to manage in her tennis shoes, let alone clown clompers - she was shivering and laughing and wiping her wet hair out of her face. The crowd was clapping, and Leah was beaming.

Before Rory could say anything, Leah was hugging her. Rory returned the embrace, whispering, "Feeling a little better?"

Leah snorted, pulling back enough to meet Rory's eyes. "A little better."

"Good, because I have a favor I'm embarrassed to ask for," Rory began, biting her lower lip. "Could you make me a new windchime? My damned cat broke the first one, and I was afraid to tell you before."

"Of course," she laughed, stepping back, and then paused. "Your cat?"

"Oh, yeah, I have a cat now, I guess? He... or she... showed up last week, and I haven't been able to trick him to leave the house, so... I guess it's his now?"

Leah's laugh was like the windchimes - tinkling and sweet. "How about we have a craft date next weekend? I can teach you how to make them. And maybe how to make those mushroom fritters," she added.

Rory's chest felt tight, but it was a good tightness. "I'd love that."

Leah nodded, squeezing Rory's hand. "Me, too."

 

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

"So."

"So."

"That was a surprising turn of events - you and Leah."

Elliott couldn't see her, but he was sure she was smirking. "Well, I figured she's one of our closest neighbors. Can't have her holding a grudge just in case she realizes our door doesn't have a lock."

"Our?"

"What?" She sounded perplexed and slightly taken aback as if he had just asked for her dress size.

"You said 'our' - our neighbor, our door."

Rory was so silent on the other side of the bench seat that Elliott momentarily worried that his teasing had gone too far. He chanced a look at her only to find her biting down a grin. "I guess I did."

The next mile went on in silence, Rory trying to adjust her wrinkled, somewhat stiff shirt from the chlorinated dunk tank. Elliott tapped the steering wheel, trying to think of a gentle way to prod the conversation forward.

It seemed he hadn't needed to, because Rory murmured, "I mean... you've spent every night with me since... Yoba, how long has it been? Three months?"

"Four," he corrected. July fifth - he'd been keeping track, but was unsure if it was more of a romantic gesture or an unsettling one. "Almost five."

"Right," she hummed, leaning back on the seat. The faux-leather squelched under her jeans. "So, I mean, really... it's kind of like you already live there."

"I suppose it is," he conceded, hoping the frantic drum-solo of his heart wasn't so loud that she could hear it.

They made it to the farm, the silence nearly deafening. The porch groaned as they trudged to the door. The yellowed light filled the living room and kitchen as Rory flicked the light switch. The cat, swishing his tail, was sitting on the counter.

"Damned cat," Rory moaned. Elliott knew she wouldn't do anything to stop the cat, though - she had resigned to become a second-class citizen in her own home, it seemed.

Elliott cleared his throat, still loitering in the doorway, the cold air outside clashing with the warmth inside. Rory turned to him, raising an eyebrow, before coming to pull his arm, dragging him inside and shutting the door. Their bodies were close, and Elliott felt his mouth water in spite of the hesitation he was feeling about their current conversation.

"You know," Rory began slowly, running a finger along the neck of his vest, "I don't really see a reason for you not to be living here. It's a little sudden, I guess," she added, eyes sparkling mischievously, "but given that the town thought you knocked me up and barely blinked, I think we're good."

Elliott would have laughed if his heart hadn't climbed into his throat, choking him. He grabbed her, hoisting her into his arms, delighting in her surprised yelp as her feet kicked helplessly above the foor. "If you are sincere, I accept."

Rory kissed his chin before wiggling to have him set her down. "Don't be an idiot," was all she said before moving into the bedroom. The cat, looking much less scraggly after his bath last week, yawned lazily before jumping off of the counter and following Rory.

Elliott waited, smiling, listening for the nightly bed-time ritual to begin. Rory was opening one of her dresser drawers, humming to herself, when there was a sudden shriek, followed by, "I will kill you slowly!"

Elliott stepped into the bedroom to find the cat perched in her dresser drawer, right in the middle of her clothing, licking his paw. "How does he sneak up on me?" she demanded, narrowed eyes turning to Elliott. "No matter where I am, no matter what I'm doing, this goddamn tyrant haunts me."

"He is a cat, darling; this is what cats do. Perhaps he is sad you haven't named him yet," Elliott said, easing behind her and wrapping his arms low on her waist, leaning over to press a kiss to her chlorine-covered neck.

"How about Asshole?"

"Is that not what you named the new goat?"

"Asshole the Second?"

"I believe that might imply that the cat is somehow the offspring of Asshole."

"The Worst Creature to Exist?"

"That is a bit long for a name."

Rory was trying to contain a laugh; Elliott could tell by the way her neck tensed beneath his lips, how her skin practically vibrated with restraint.

"Dolly."

"Dolly?" he repeated.

"Dolly. I've always hated dolls. You know, those vacant-eyed, victorian porcelain ones?"

"Dolly is not much of a name for a male cat."

"Good," she muttered, finally laughing when the cat looked up at her with narrowed eyes. "He deserves to be tormented in any verbal way I can think of."

Elliott finally extracted himself from her, kissing the back of her head. "Dolly, then."

The cat - Dolly, he corrected mentally - turned his yellow eyes onto Elliott and Elliott got a distinct impression it - he - could understand. "Do you think he is plotting how best to kill us?"

"I know he is," Rory sighed, making a tsk'ing noise to move Dolly off of her clothing. The cat jumped down with a half-hearted grumbling growl, and Rory collected some clothing. "See? You won't make it to 30 the way this is going."

Elliott hesitated. "I am 30 next year," he said, surprised she didn't remember the huge 29th birthday party she had thrown for him - with the help of Jodi, of course - just a month ago.

"I know," she sighed in mock resignation, tossing her nightshirt over her shoulder and sauntering into the bathroom.

Something crashed in the kitchen - probably the glass of water Elliott warned her would be a victim of Dolly's vindictiveness. Rory merely let out another loud puff of air before starting the shower.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: smut

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

  

"Rory... I think your cat is a girl," Leah hummed while Rory leaned over the stained glass shards the woman had brought over for their crafting date.

"No, he's too evil to be a girl," Rory replied absently, settling on a large blue shard, slipping the fishing line in the small drilled hole to secure it to her windchime. "I'm pretty sure he came out of the mineshaft with whatever keeps howling in the mountain pass at night."

Leah placed her mug of coffee delicately on the table before wandering over to where Dolly was licking himself on the entry mat. The orange feline didn't seem to care that the door his back leaned against could open at any minute, idiot that he was.

Rory didn't tear her eyes from her work, carefully dotting a speck of hot glue over the tied line. She did look up, however, when a startling noise came from the pair by the door. "What-" Rory's words died off, but her mouth remained open. There was Dolly, rubbing up against Leah's crouched form, making a loud grating sound in his throat. "What's happening to him?" Rory asked, prepared to run if needed.

Leah turned back to beam at her, running a hand through Dolly's fur. "She's purring! Oh - and Dolly is a girl."

Rory wasn't sure which aspect she was most amazed by - her brain seemed to have short-circuited upon seeing the cat being anything nicer than quietly judgemental. "Holy shit. You should tame demons for a living; I think you might be a natural at it."

Leah chuckled and waved her over. "Slowly, so you don't spook her." Rory reluctantly got out of her chair, eyes never leaving the cat. Dolly had stopped rubbing against Leah, watching Rory warily. As Rory approached, Leach murmured, "Stop right there and crouch down. Good. Now put your hand out, palm down, and stay there."

Rory felt stupid but did as asked. Dolly stared at her hand, tail fluttering anxiously. Rory was about to give up and go back to the table when Dolly finally began to walk toward her, tail crooked.

"Just stay still," Leah cooed reassuringly. "And be calm. She can tell if you're anxious and it will make her anxious."

Dolly sniffed Rory's hand, taking extra time on her index finger still smattered with glue, before rubbing her face over the digits. Rory nearly shrieked - not at the cat's sudden willingness to be affectionate, but at Dolly's wake of slobber.

"Oh gross, _oooh,_ so disgusting," Rory whispered, trying to keep herself from flailing. Dolly was now stepping in closer, tail fluttering as she rubbed her head all over Rory's hand and arm.

Leah stood, making Dolly tear off into the bedroom. The woman chuckled, running a hand through her wind-swept bangs. "Skittish little thing. She must have had a rough life before you."

Rory rubbed her hand off on her pajama pants, still unnerved by the cat but heartened by the interaction. Maybe someday Dolly wouldn't hate her with every ounce of her devil-heart.

The pair went back to their crafts - Rory making the windchimes and Leah offering guidance while molding clay on a piece of wax paper. There had been a decided lack of awkwardness, which Rory hadn't expected. If anything, things seemed smoother with Leah than most other neighbors.

"Your birthday is coming up, isn't it?" Leah asked suddenly, handing Rory the scissors before she could even ask for them.

"Kind of, I guess. Two more months."

"Right; I was fairly sure Mayor Lewis said sometime in December." Leah hummed to herself while she worked, lithe fingers moving over the clay, shaping what looked to be a face. "You're twenty-seven, and you've already achieved all of this," Leah said wistfully, waving a finger around to indicate the farm. "It's amazing. You should be amazed at yourself."

Rory snorted, glancing over the remaining glass for her last piece. "I didn't do anything except show up. You guys made it presentable and kept me fed." A faint flush rose around Leah's dainty freckles. "I loved Casserole Day," Rory added, which made the blush deepen, Leah's cheeks dimpling with her grin.

"I do make fantastic casseroles," Leah acknowledged, using a fine-tipped instrument to carve detail into the face. "Speaking of, are you ready for our cooking lesson?"

Rory finished dotting the tied line with glue, blowing it dry before holding it up for inspection. The glass chimed chaotically for a moment before settling, gently clicking.

"Beautiful!" Leah exclaimed, wrapping her clay in wax paper before sticking it into a large plastic bag. "Alright, mushroom fritters."

"Would there be any way to add an ingredient?" Rory asked nonchalantly, heading to the fridge while Leah followed.

"I'm sure we can... what is it?"

Rory grabbed a container of fresh goat cheese, opening and presenting it. Leah took one whiff before her eyes widened. "Oh, Yoba. Please tell me you're giving this to me."

"Not this one," Rory began with a smirk. "This one is for the fritters - but I do have two other containers in the fridge for you."

Leah looked more excited about the tubs of goat cheese than the cakes. "I think this might need to be a weekly tradition, Rory."

Rory closed the fridge, something warm fluttering in her chest. "I think you're a genius, Leah."

 

* * *

  **Elliott**

* * *

  

When Elliott returned from the beach with the remaining clothing and writing supplies from his shack, he found Leah and Rory on the floor of the living room. They evidently hadn't heard the truck come up the lane, or the door open and close. It made sense, though - hip-hop was playing so loudly from the television that Elliott could barely hear himself think.

The faded, sagging love-seat had been pushed up against the wall, the new floral rug - a gift from Marnie - tossed unceremoniously into the kitchen, and the coffee table upended near the love-seat. The women were bent over wood pieces, giggling and trying to read from a long sheet of crinkling paper.

Before he could ask what was happening, Leah looked up and frowned. She reached for the remote beside her, muting the TV. The sudden silence was deafening.

"Hey, what-" Rory pouted before looking up and seeing Elliott. To his surprise, she didn't smile. "Oh no, you're here!"

Elliott's mouth opened in a surprised, wordless expletive, and Leah snorted, reaching for a wine glass Elliott hadn't noticed before. "We thought you'd be gone longer."

"It is nearly midnight," Elliott replied slowly, glancing between the women. They were clearly drunk and seemed to have been that way for hours. He hadn't realized that leaving them to their own devices would result in an all-day bender. He hadn't even realized Leah and Rory would have enough to bond over for the 'friend date' to go longer than a couple of hours.

Evidently he had been very wrong on both counts.

Rory grappled behind her, trying to find something. "Where's my phone?" she mumbled, a phrase that Elliott was quite accustomed to since cohabitating with the woman. She somehow managed to misplace everything in the house while being extra-conscious of everything's location in the fields.

"Green?" Leah asked.

"Green?" Rory repeated dumbly.

"Is the case green," Leah giggled, covering her face with a hand. "Your phone case. Is it green?"

Rory snorted out a cackle. "Yes! Who else's phone would it be?"

"Mine," Leah tried to say past her sudden breathless laughter. "Mine is green!"

The pair were too busy cackling to remember Elliott was there, he supposed. Even so, he walked over and grabbed the two phones on the ground to Leah's left - with very different shades of green - and handed the lime one to Rory and the forest one to Leah.

Elliott decided to leave them to their merry-making, taking trips back and forth to the truck for his bags of clothing and boxes of other items - sparse kitchen supplies, pens, journals, and books. The women had asked if he needed help, but they were too drunk to think, let alone carry things. Someone would end up hurt, and Elliott was sure it wouldn't be him.

As if on cue, Elliott heard a whined "Oww!" from the living room as he placed piles of clothing on the bed. "This sucks. I hate making things."

Elliott rounded the corner, finding Rory examining her finger. "What happened?"

"Just a splinter," she mumbled, letting out a sigh as she got to her feet, wavering, and then went to the kitchen to extract it. Splinters were a common enough occurrence on the farm, but it didn't stop Rory from seeming surprised each time it happened.

Elliott sat on the floor next to Leah, peering down at the wood pieces. "What is this, then?"

Leah frowned at him. "You weren't supposed to see it; it was supposed to be a surprise." Even so, she handed the long sheet of paper to him, and he glanced at the top of the page. A stout tallboy dresser was displayed proudly, the list of instructions below it small, hard to read, and lacking pictures. It was possibly the least informative sheet of data that Elliott had ever seen.

Elliott smiled and shook his head, tying his hair back. "Well, how would you ladies like sober assistance?"

"Yes, please!" Rory called from the kitchen, struggling with a pair of tweezers they kept beside the sink for the very purpose of sliver extraction.

Leah nodded, taking a long pull of wine. "Okay. Let's do this."

 

* * *

 

Rory woke with a faint throbbing in her head, her ears hot and throat dry. She groaned, rolling over to curl up against Elliott, but he wasn't there. The bed beside her was cold - she knew it meant he was off doing something infuriatingly sweet, like breakfast in bed. Or writing, she guessed, but he'd been freer since finishing his novel, less tied to his writing desk in the screened porch off of their bedroom.

Rory ran her hand over the wrinkled sheet, tracing where his back would be, where his hair would fan over the pillow. There was something thick in her throat, choking her. She didn't understand anything about their relationship - what she'd done to deserve him, how she'd tricked him into thinking she was worthy - but she knew she loved him. She knew he loved her.

So what was she waiting for?

Rory rolled onto her back, a hand running along the curve of her abdomen. She traced rosettes around her bellybutton, forcing herself to do the thing she tried never to do - she looked down the road. She swallowed the fear prickling the back of her throat and thought about the future.

She was done hiding from him, she decided. She was going to march into the kitchen and tell him her intentions. Or telling him to strip and get on the table, she wasn't quite sure which.

Blinking and trying not to make a sound, Rory rolled out of bed and into the silent kitchen. The light filling every inch of the house was blinding - moreso than usual. Elliott, however, wasn't there. The coffee in the pot was chilled, even sitting beside the fireplace. He hadn't been inside for a couple of hours at the least.

"What time is it?" she asked the empty air. Dolly was asleep on the folded up floral rug they had been too tired to put back, her long tail coiled around her body. Her food dish was on the ground, licked clean, so Elliott had already finished feeding all of the animals. The pails of milk and baskets of eggs on the counter meant the boys had come and gone, finished with the animals. "Holy shit, what time is it?" she repeated, confused and disoriented. She hadn't stayed up well into the morning in what felt like eons.

The farm had made her old.

She washed up and drank some water, trying to get her wits about her and plan her next course of action. If the truck was still outside, then Elliott was probably in one of the barns. Her plan had been to seduce with as little clothing as possible, but that would not be happening if she had to go out into the early winter chill.

Rory didn't have time to put her glass in the dishwasher before the door swung open dramatically, scaring Dolly and making her tear away into the bedroom. Elliott poked his head in, cheeks and nose rosy. "Rory! Get dressed!" he ordered, sounding like an excited child on a snow day.

Rory's eyes widened. Snow day. Elliott was gone before she could confirm and, hangover somehow forgotten, she ran to the window and looked out.

The snow must have started recently because the ground was still visible. The heavy white flakes were growing bigger and faster, though, and Rory pulled herself from the window to get dressed. She was positive that she had mismatched her socks and forgotten a bra in her haste, but she didn't care.

Rory charged out onto the porch, only to have her vision swirl, the world shift, and her foot slip out from beneath her. She should have known that the hangover wouldn't allow her to ignore it for long. Rory winced at the sharp pain in her tailbone. "Oh fuck me," she muttered, pulling herself up stumbling down the remaining steps, carefully trotting to where Elliott was attempting to make a snow angel in the thickening ground cover.

Rory, forgetting all decorum and the warning pains in her tailbone, dropped down to straddle Elliott, her jeans soaking up the snow at her knees, a cold chill running up her thighs. Elliott wiggled and wheezed beneath her, hands on her waist, trying to tickle through her layers.

They wrestled for a few moments before the cold began to nip into their bones through cracks in their clothing, icy water dripping from their hair. Elliott pulled himself to his feet, helping Rory up, and drew her into a one-armed hug. "Welcome to your first snow in Stardew."

"Best morning in a while," she sighed, leaning into him. She could see the newer barn and coop, still empty, and the orchard. Everything was quickly collecting snow, becoming the same glittering color as everything else. "It's gorgeous right now, but I am definitely going to be cursing it within the week."

"Best afternoon, but yes, this is momentarily exhilarating," Elliott confirmed, hand tightening on her shoulder.

Rory glanced up at him, still amazed he was real. "Hey," she murmured, words measured. "I think I want to go inside and take a long bath." Elliott leaned down to kiss the top of her head, but she captured his chin in her hands, caressing the cold digits across his jaw. "Want to join me?" she breathed, heart fluttering anxiously.

Elliott's eyes were wide. She could see the cogs turning furiously in his brain, trying to weigh the pros of giving in to what he wanted. He had always been the romantic type - she wouldn't put it past him to strive for 'the perfect moment' before getting completely naked with her.

"I," was all Elliott seemed able to say, his natural grace gone. Somehow it was charming, but Rory supposed that was because she loved watching him flounder; it happened so rarely.

Rory kissed his chin. "Well, I'm going to take a bath. You can come along if you want." She turned and walked away, doing her damnedest not to turn around to look at him. Her heart was hammering in her chest as she grabbed a few candles, taking them into the bathroom. She clicked the overhead light off, lighting the candles and casting the faintest glow in the room.

With the water drawn and her clothes on the ground, Rory realized that Elliott might not follow her. She might have pushed too hard; he might not have been ready. Rory sank into the tub, the heat burning along her legs and up to her ribs. She slid low in the water, watching the faucet drip.

She had written him off after ten minutes, Rory's cheeks flushing from the heat and embarrassment. She should have known that springing that on him so suddenly was a horrible idea. How in the world did she expect it to work? Part of her thought about getting out of the tub to grab a wine bottle. If she was going to be alone in a bath with candles, she might as well have a buzz, too.

The bathroom door slowly opened before she could convince herself to get up, and Rory's mouth went dry. She worried that her ribs might shatter with the force of her heartbeat. But each second dragged on, the pair trying to see one another through the dim room, and Rory's chest didn't burst apart. Elliott didn't retreat.

He stepped into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him. He took two steps toward the tub before pulling his sweater over his head, letting it drop to the ground. Rory stopped breathing for a moment as his hands made it to the button of his slacks.

He hesitated, and Rory thought he might ask her if she was sure - ask her if she really wanted to do this. But to her surprise and relief, he didn't. He slid out of his pants, his socks, and then his underwear.

Caught between wanting to stare and wanting to look away, Rory swallowed. She was suddenly bashful, confused, her hands trembling. She bit her lower lip and watched his face as he stepped toward the tub, easing in across from her. Their knees furled up to their chests simultaneously, their eyes trained on one another.

Rory found her nerve after a quick countdown from ten, rising onto her toes in a crouch, pulling Elliott's legs down and around her. The tub was too small for any of it to work comfortably, Rory knew, but she was willing to try. His legs slid in while she moved to straddle them. Rory's knees smashed into the ceramic painfully, but she managed to settle herself on his lap. Elliott leaned toward her, and she met his lips with hers, wet hands dampening his hair as they ran through it.

Rory could feel his heart thumping wildly against hers. She heard the thick swell of desire in his voice when he moaned against her, saying her name, his hips beginning to move under her thighs. Rory could feel his cock growing, shoving into the fleshy bit of her upper thigh. She felt as if she couldn't breathe, as if the entire world was running out of air around her. Elliott's mouth trailed down her neck, making her arch, his tongue finding the hollow between her collar bones, and the faint ridge of sternum below that.

Some distant part of her was terrified. Of what, she had no idea. Being tied down? Taking the next logical step? Losing interest once she'd gotten what she wanted?

"Come back to me," Elliott whispered against her ear, his hands sliding from her waist to her spine, tickling up to her neck and pulling her into a kiss.

"Sorry," she breathed when they parted. "I just... got lost for a second." Her mouth found his again, gently. "Back, all good, please continue."

Elliott chuckled kindly, nibbling her earlobe and making her stomach bottom out. Rory gently dragged her pelvis back, sliding along his shaft. She listened to him gasp, to his low moan as she moved, hips rocking back and forth.

Elliott shifted, trying to position himself, which only sloshed water over the edge of the tub and made Rory rap her knee against the porcelain, letting out a little noise of distress. Elliott let out an apologetic, breathless laugh. "Darling?"

"Yeah?" Rory returned, a hand moving from his chest to her knee, rubbing it.

"As wonderful and enchanting as this idea is, I think we should consider moving elsewhere for our floor and your knees' sake."

Rory snorted, pressing her forehead to his chest. "In hindsight, the bath might not have been the best place to get it on."

"Get it on?" he repeated, pulling her face up. He was grinning widely, boyishly. "You call lovemaking 'getting it on?'"

"Among other things," she shrugged, slowly and carefully getting to her feet. Her knees protested the motion but didn't give out. "You call it 'lovemaking?' I think most people our age would side with me on the vocabulary."

Before she could step out of the tub, one of Elliott's hands slid up her calf and inner thigh, hesitating at the apex between her legs. Rory's mouth went dry. She pressed herself gently against his palm, and his fingers wasted no time sliding along her slick folds. Rory wavered, nearly blinded for a moment. She leaned over to grab Elliott's shoulders so she wouldn't fall, breathing ragged.

Back in the beginning, back when Elliott came to help clear the farm, he'd said he was very good with his fingers. He hadn't meant it sexually then, but even so, Elliott had not been joking. Rory's nails were digging into Elliott's skin, but she couldn't let up. If she let go, if she even loosened her grip, she was going to fall. Each caress of his fingers was like a firestarter, and her abdomen was a ball of hydrogen just waiting for the spark.

Elliott leaned forward, his mouth pressing against her, kissing her thighs gently before his tongue swept along her slit with an ease she would have marveled at if she could think past her firing nerve endings. His mouth moved in, replacing his finger on her clit. That finger slid to her opening, circling the ring of muscle and collecting her wetness, before pressing slowly inside of her.

Rory let out a noise she would later deny, something between a choked sob and a moan. Her legs were trembling, threatening to give out. Another finger found its way inside of her, stretching her and making her gasp.

Elliott's tongue and lips worked at her tirelessly, his fingers driving into her a little harder, a little faster, each time she bucked her hips against him. Rory was reasonably sure she sounded like a banshee, but it was hard to hear through the blood rushing through her ears.

She came suddenly, and without much warning, a perfect strike of Elliott's fingers across her g-spot releasing most of the tension Rory had struggled with for years. She slumped, and Elliott helped her back to his lap. He held her close, kissing the top of her head while she came down, her eyes closed and mouth open, gasping for breath. It didn't take long for Rory to finally find the willpower to open her eyes, and when she did, she slowly sat up to kiss Elliott. He tasted like her, and it sent a thrill up her spine. Her tongue tapped lovingly against his, caressing in quick, gentle strokes before she pulled back. "I think I hear the bed calling."

Elliott, ever the gentleman, held her steady while she climbed out of the tub. He dried her off while he kissed his way down her body, leaving her shuddering and aching all over again. Rory tugged him through the door, all anxiety gone, and pushed him onto the bed. Her mouth found his cock, which flared to life without much provocation as her tongue slid along his length, sucking gently at his head.

Elliott was panting when she pulled back from him. His chest rose and fell frantically, and she watched it while she climbed onto the bed, and then onto his lap. Elliott held her waist while she guided him to her entrance, glancing down at his flushed face. "Ready?" she breathed.

"Always."

She slid onto him and paused, her passage tightening around him as she grew accustomed to the new sensation. She was hyperfocused, watching every twitch and breath he let out as she began to move. She rode him slowly, trying to keep herself from ruining things by fucking him with everything she was worth. Instead, she kept things slow, guiding his hands over her body, up her small, round belly to the muscled ridge of her abdomen, and then to her breasts.

Elliott sat up abruptly, surprising Rory enough that she lost her rhythm. He secured his arms around her waist and kissed her, lips finding her jugular, and then her clavicle, and then he breasts. His tongue slid across a nipple while a hand caressed the other, his attention making her tighten around him, her pelvis speeding up. Rory clung to his arms as she moved, her breath ragged and growing harsher with each pass of his tongue over her nipple, each thrust of him inside of her.

"Oh fuck," she whispered, trying to bite down the orgasm attempting to rip itself out of her. She wanted to focus on him; she wanted to make sure she could make him happy -

"Let go," Elliott said against her sternum as he kissed his way to her other nipple. "I want to hear you again."

Rory gritted her teeth, her climax sliding through her like ice, making her shudder and shake. Elliott's arms tightened, breath hot on her neck as he continued thrusting into her, his movements becoming frantic.

Rory tried to bring herself to in time to watch his face while he came, but her vision swam uselessly from her own release. All she could tell was that his lips parted, his eyes closed, and he groaned her name between gritted teeth.

They slumped to the bed beside one another, Rory's head near Elliott's shoulder and Elliott's hand next to her thigh. Rory looked at the ceiling as it eddied, absently wondering what it would be like to have sex in the snow. Naked, of course. It would be impossible, she assumed, but that almost made her want to try it even more.

When Elliott had caught his breath and Rory could see clearly again, the pair looked at one another sheepishly. Rory had never done the 'conversation after sex' thing; she'd never needed to. But now there was Elliott, and Elliott had dragged her into unknown territory. "Hey," she began hesitantly, the word coming out more as a question than a charming post-coital greeting.

"You seem troubled," Elliott observed, voice content and sleepy.

Rory bit the inside of her cheek before curling against his side, a leg sliding over his and her arm looping across his torso. "No. More... contemplative, I guess." When Elliott smiled slightly, she snuggled closer, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"What have you been deliberating?"

"Oh, the usual... why I waited so long to get your underwear off is top of the list at the moment." She kissed his shoulder and hopped off of the bed to go clean up. Rory was confident she had messed up her first pillow-talk session, but she was pleased she'd managed to stay in bed for a full two minutes after.

"Shall I make the scallops for dinner?" he called from the bedroom, putting all of Rory's concerns aside. She could hear him rummaging in his dresser. He sounded content; he sounded as if the entire exchange hadn't made him rethink his choice in broken women.

"Yeah!" she called back. "There's some shrimp in the freezer if you want to make that cook lady's stew." Rory froze after the last word. Domesticated. She'd become domesticated. "Oh, gross," she grumbled through the guilty smile passing over her face.

Domesticated wasn't so bad.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: smut

 

* * *

Rory

* * *

 

Rory and Elliott chose to loiter on the farm for almost a week, too enchanted with one another's bodies to stay dressed after chores. They had managed to have sex on every available surface in the cabin except the rickety coffee table. Rory was reasonably sure it would give out under her weight if they ever tried.

"Hey," Rory murmured suddenly, pulling her face up from the crook of Elliott's arm. "You know how I'm having Robin renovate the Community Center?" Elliott murmured in response. "What if we also remodel the house?"

He hummed, eyes still closed, hand absently stroking her spine and making her shiver. Electricity tingled up her backbone, her vision sharpening, seeing each detail of Elliott's face.

"Stop, you're just trying to distract me," Rory whined, pretending to pull back only to have Elliott's arm tighten around her, his cocksure smile widening and his green eyes meeting hers. "Anyway," she continued, enunciating the word, "what do you think? I mean, it's not like we don't have money. The next batch of wines are going to come in next month, and Yoba knows what we're gonna do with _that_ money."

Elliott blinked back sleep and glancing around him. "The walls could use some updating," he acquiesced.

"And the kitchen."

"It would be lovely get some thicker glass on the side porch," he added. "And perhaps a heating unit so I might write longer than two minutes before freezing."

"Not to mention these gross floors."

"I have never seen the upstairs," Elliott added, almost hesitantly. The top of the stairs had been blocked off by her grandfather at some point - perhaps so he wasn't reminded of her mother's old room. The room where Rory stayed whenever her mom was on a job or in the hospital.

"We should open it up," Rory murmured absently. There was something hot and tight in her chest at the thought of it, but it seemed wasteful to let the upstairs go.

"If you are ready," Elliott replied gently, pulling her down into him again, kissing her head. The pair laid in silence before Elliott whispered, "I know you do not wish to speak of it, but have you... have you been checked?"

Rory's mouth nearly fell open, mistaking his words before her brain caught up. He knew what was upstairs - it was one of the first things he asked upon seeing the stairwell to nowhere. He knew what happened to her mother, what happened to her mother's mother. She was surprised he hadn't asked sooner. "Clean and clear. Huntington's is a flip of the coin - one I won, I guess."

His arm tightened, and she felt his tension leave him. She hadn't realized he'd been thinking about it, agonizing over it, until she heard his sigh of relief. She supposed it would weigh heavily on him, wondering if the woman he loved would die in the very near future.

A knock on the front door drew a disgruntled groan from Rory and a mumble of dejection from Elliott. It was close to noon, so Rory supposed it wasn't a complete annoyance that someone had come calling.

Rory got out of bed and wrapped herself in her thick robe, heading to the door. Marnie was on the other side, glancing over her shoulder toward her truck. She turned quickly when the door opened, but her smile turned worried when she caught sight of Rory. "Oh, honey, are you ill?"

Rory bit her lower lip, attempting to stifle the smile that bloomed on her face. "No, just lounging. Nothing like a snowy day to make you lazy."

Marnie laughed in agreement, her eyes drawn past Rory to where Elliott was walking toward the kitchen. Her cheeks flushed a bit, and Rory hoped that Elliott had at least put underwear on. "Looks like you have more than the snow to thank," Marnie said, seemingly without thinking, before snapping back. "I haven't named the horse yet, figured that should be left up to you. Do you want to come introduce him to Josie?"

"Sure, let me get dressed, and I'll be right there. Do you want to wait inside? Elliott can make some coffee."

"Oh, no," Marnie chuckled, looking back at her truck. "I'll get the boy out of the trailer."

Rory closed the door and glanced at Elliott who was leaning against the counter with a cold cup of last night's coffee. He had put underwear on, but just the sight of his bare chest was enough to send Rory's heart racing - she couldn't imagine how poor Marnie felt. "You tortured her for the fun of it," she accused with a laugh, loving the wolfish simper he gave her.

"I am just ensuring she gossips about how happy you are with your current model of boyfriend," he teased.

Rory snorted and moved to the bedroom. She dressed quickly, not wanting to keep Marnie waiting for long, going as far as to dance away from Elliott's hands when they groped for her waist. "Be good," she warned without any heat, heading to the door and slipping into her snow boots. "Want to meet the new horse?"

"I will be there soon," he promised, kissing her cheek, a hand skimming across the apex of her legs as he passed.

Rory wrinkled her nose at him, but he didn't see it. She opened the door and stepped out onto the icy deck, frowning at the snow. She had been right - seven days of the stuff, and she was already over it.

The new horse, a gelding Appaloosa with pale splotches and a penchant for nibbling at Rory's hair, took to Josie immediately. Josie, Rory knew, was just thrilled to have company and the two raced around the paddock, snorting and braying at one another and the humans watching them. Elliott had joined them at the icicle-covered metal gate, looking in on the two. "Does he have a name yet?" he asked amiably after greeting a blushing Marnie.

"Not yet," Rory sighed, leaning her head onto Elliott's shoulder. "I feel like I'm naming a new animal every week."

"Last week it was a truck," Elliott supplied.

Marnie patted Rory on the arm, smiling warmly. "I should get back. Let me know when you prepare that new barn, and we'll work on getting you some more critters to name."

Rory couldn't help the small laugh that slipped from her lips, waving to Marnie before turning her attention back to the horses. Elliott's hand wormed beneath her puffy coat, cold fingers on the small of her back.

Rory narrowed her eyes and looked up to find him smirking at her. "You're single-minded in your determination, I'll give you that," she finally said, biting her cheek to keep from smiling. "A part of me is beginning to think that you only want me for one thing."

"For many things," Elliott corrected. "But, I must confess, all I can think of is leaning you against this fence."

Rory glanced back - Marnie was almost gone, her tire chains leaving deep furrows in the snow, empty trailer swinging precariously with each ridge of ice. Rory thought about waiting a bit to make sure Marnie didn't come back, but she gave in halfway through and, against her better judgment, reached for the button on her jeans. "You've got five minutes before I die from the cold."

Elliott chuckled, already working his pants off. "I suppose I can work with that."

 

* * *

 

The 'honeymoon' winter didn't last long, however; Robin was raring to begin repairs on the ancient house. She began in the kitchen - her absolute favorite thing to remodel, according to her. The entire side of the entry room was roped off with plastic sheeting, sawdust occasionally seeping through the bottom cracks. Elliott and Rory were going to neighbors' houses for dinner, feeling awkward about the whole ordeal. No one else seemed to mind - in fact, the older members of the town seemed to be thrilled to have another couple to gossip with.

"Elliott," Rory said one night as they drove to Pierre and Caroline's for dinner, "I think we're old now."

"Darling, I have been old my entire life."

Rory nodded to herself. She could imagine five-year-old Elliott, a self-taught reader, quoting poetry from memory. "Sounds about right."

Elliott's laughter was more charming than the stained-glass windchimes on their porch.

The dinner with Pierre and Caroline had been surprisingly lively with music and more alcohol than Rory anticipated. Abigail had left for Sam's after the chaotic and loud supper, only confirming what Rory had expected. "We're definitely old now," Rory said aloud, not thinking through the beer haze.

Pierre laughed, the sound still startling. He had always been so quiet - friendly, but somehow reserved. He might have gotten high before dinner, Rory thought suddenly, remembering Abigail's revelation about his stash of pot. If that was the case, if the weed made Pierre energetic and bright, then Rory wished he could stop sneaking around with it. Abigail was right - it didn't seem fair.

Rory kept her mouth shut even though she desperately wanted to talk to Caroline about it. Rory was drunk and succumbing to the town-pastime of stirring the pot.

"Oh, Rory!" Caroline suddenly exclaimed, nearly knocking her glass of wine over in her haste to get out of her chair. "We got the new catalog from Montaque's!"

"Montaque's?" Rory repeated.

"The furniture store," Elliott elaborated for her. "I thought you might wish to look at it."

"They're going to be giving the town a discount to advertise for them," Pierre added, sounding bemused. "Not sure why, seeing as they aren't going to get too many customers out of us, but I didn't look the gift house in the mouth."

"Horse, dear," Caroline giggled.

"Horse. What did I say?"

The conversation devolved into titters and Rory flipped the magazine open, looking over the high-end, beautifully stained side tables and bed frames. "Wow," was all she could say.

"You have never been to Montaque's?" Elliott asked, sounding surprised.

"Elliott, I am a simple girl. I can't believe I'm saying this, but your entire... thing," she enunciated, waving at his mock turtleneck in the darkest, truest blue she'd ever seen, and perfectly pressed pants, "makes sense now."

"My thing?" he repeated, perplexed.

"The clothes," Caroline nodded, seeming to have joined the conversation at some point.

"And the way you talk," Pierre added.

"And I've never been so jealous of a man's hair before," Rory continued with a wink.

Elliott flushed with alcohol and laughter. "I was unaware I inspired such bemusement."

"That! That right there!" Pierre nearly choked on his beer. "I have never, in my life, heard someone talk like that."

"Polished," Caroline confirmed, slurring a bit in the middle.

Rory leaned over to kiss Elliott's cheek, grinning. "I love it."

Caroline _aww_ 'ed and leaned across the table to faux-whisper, "You're right - you have crossed the line into being old."

Elliott and Pierre laughed while Rory covered her face to hide her giggling. She was beginning to think she didn't mind being old.

 

* * *

 

It took less than two months for Robin and her hired crew from Calico Desert to finish the entire house. The floors sparkled with new life after the sanding and staining. The walls were bright with creamy paint colors, and the kitchen had gone under an entire re-haul with masonry on the floors and sleek herringbone tile on the backsplash, cherry oak cabinets, and pale granite countertops. The stairs led to a second floor once again, the upstairs study dark and moody for Elliott's new writing nook. The large second bedroom - the one her mother lived in, the one Rory herself had spent countless nights in - had been carpeted and painted a careful neural, the room empty save for a lamp.

Rory and Elliott didn't speak about the second room. Rory wasn't sure if it was because they both wanted to ignore the familial history that had been there. Or perhaps it was the familial history that _could_ be there if Rory decided she was ready to drop the birth control.

They hadn't spoken about expanding their relationship, more than likely because it was so new. It didn't feel new to Rory, though. In her mind, time segmented into two parts; Before Stardew Valley, and Stardew Valley. The former was a mere blur that she had to focus on to recall; the latter was all-consuming and, there at the heart of it, had always been Elliott. But the calendar didn't lie; they had only been official for three months.

Her birthday dawned cold and bright. Rory slipped out of bed before her alarm went off, dismissing the obnoxious chiming before it could start, and got dressed as quietly as she could. She glided into the cold morning air, trudging across the compacted snow. She milked the cows and had just started with the egg-collecting when Sam and Sebastian arrived for their late weekend start.

"Hey!" Sam called, trotting toward her when he noticed her black jacket against the snow. "What's up?"

"Not too much," Rory hummed, crouching down to where a hen had come out to flutter around her feet. She rubbed her thumb over the tiny head in greeting. "Just felt like getting some time in with the animals. Ir's been ages."

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning against the gate. "Really? We had to shoo you out of here _yesterday._ We need enough stuff to do all day, you know."

Rory conceded, smiling. "Well, I guess I could let you guys do something." She handed her basket over, carefully stepping around her feathered shadow, Freida. The chicken had taken a fierce liking to her, enough so that she came out of the coop and into the snow whenever Rory was around. It was adorable, but it was nearly impossible to keep Frieda from getting through the gate with Rory when she left.

Rory climbed over the fence, careful not to put a boot through the netting. She waved goodbye to Sam when he called, "Happy birthday!" at her retreating back. Sebastian shouted the sentiment from the other coop, much less animatedly.

The porch was slick, but she'd learned to navigate in the ice. Robin was already drawing up plans for a new deck, covered from the elements this time, and turning the side porch into a sunroom for Dolly. The renovations had felt like they were getting out of hand - everything was brand new and shiny, unrecognizable. It almost felt like blasphemy against her grandfather.

All of her concerns left when she made it into the bathroom. The new shower Robin and Leah had designed was huge, had a long bench perfect for extracurricular activities, a steam jet, and two showerheads. It was so decadent that Rory had protested it - heavily - only to be assuaged by Elliott's promise that she would love it.

Love it she did. Most mornings Rory didn't want to leave the spray for any reason at all.

She had managed to wash her hair and face before Elliott slid the shower door opened and slipped in, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Happy birthday, darling," he mumbled, voice husky with sleep.

Rory tilted her head to the side, and he kissed her neck, hands sliding down her waist to her hips, slowly meandering inward, over her belly and pausing at the cropped curls between her legs. "What would you like for breakfast?" His voice drew delightful shivers to Rory's spine.

"What are my options?" she managed to return.

Elliott only chuckled, drawing her toward the bench. He forced her down with more intensity than she had expected, but it sent thrilled sparks through her limbs. Rory angled herself better, and Elliott's hands tossed her legs over his shoulders as he knelt in front of her. One last smirk was all he gave her before he disappeared between her legs. Elliott's fingers were tight on her thighs, furrowing in her skin, but she could barely feel anything aside from Elliott's mouth hungrily devouring her. His hair was wet and matting under her frantic hands, but he kept going, not even pausing.

She came faster than she had wanted - she always tried to hold out, to enjoy him for as long as she could, but it never worked. She had gone from one or two orgasms a year to a hundred - or more, she'd lost count after the third day - in two months. It was overwhelming how much he had changed things.

Elliott slowly licked across her, sucking gently on his way up her belly to her ribs. When he lifted his face, glistening with her and water spray, she grabbed his jaw and pulled him into a kiss. Their tongues were sharp and hard, stabbing at one another and retreating in some dramatic dance. Rory pushed him back and skimmed onto the slick tile beside him, splaying her legs to each side of him and reaching for his cock. A few enthusiastic strokes were all it took to get him to full attention.

She slowly laid back and Elliott moved into position, Rory's hand still rubbing across his cock. She eased him inside of her, wincing a bit, and then nodded the go-ahead.

The pace was rough and graceless, leaving Rory panting and moaning like she was being paid to do it, fingernails scrabbling at the tile and any part of him that she could reach. Elliott's mouth couldn't decide between her lips or neck, teeth nipping both while one hand squeezed a small breast and the other flexed as he held himself above her.

"What else would you like, darling?" he asked suddenly, his breath ragged. He was close, his eyes wild and dark.

Rory's heart hammered in her chest. "I want you to come."

The words worked - Elliott's entire body tensed above her, his panting growing desperate. His pace quickened, the hand on her breast tightening as Elliott released with a gritted shout, brow furrowed. He rolled off of her so he wouldn't crush her, laying on his back and gasping. "I am sorry, I wanted to wait-"

Rory snorted and draped herself over his chest, fingers wandering across the faint trail of tawny hair on his abdomen. "Don't you dare apologize."

They laid there quietly until the spray began to go cold. Rory groaned and dragged herself off of Elliott to quickly rinse and turn the shower knob. "Come on," she yawned, suddenly exhausted. "You wore me out, and now I need actual breakfast."

Elliott got up more gracefully than Rory managed, kissing her shoulder. "I prepared cinnamon rolls last night. They should be ready for the oven by now."

Rory moaned in delight. "Best birthday ever."

"Due to the cinnamon rolls or sex?" Elliott asked, amused.

Rory shrugged. "Can't it be both?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** This chapter includes, 1) the smallest, tiniest section of not-even-smut smut ever, and 2) lots of POV changes. You have been warned!

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

The party had gone on late into the night; Pierre's living room had turned into a streamer- and balloon-filled maze, two long tables laden with food and cocktails in the very back. Elliott poured himself another drink - someone had gotten a top-shelf scotch which no one else seemed to want - and turned to the rest of the room. He could just barely spot Rory dancing with Leah and Abigail, clutching a red solo cup like every teen party movie Elliott had ever seen.

She looked happy. She looked carefree. It was a far cry from the girl he met on the beach, her shoulders tense and legs prepared to run at the slightest provocation.

Rory glanced back at him with her long hair obscuring most her face but her smile breathtaking and all for him. His chest tightened and he returned the smile, lifting his cup to her in a silent salute.

 

* * *

 

 

When they got home, Rory stumbling more from exhaustion than drink, Elliott pulled Rory into his arms, murmuring, "Might I steal you from your dreams for a moment?"

Rory chuckled, her head falling to his chest heavily. He assumed she would gently tease him about his speech pattern, but she didn't. "Thank you for tonight," she said instead, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Pierre told me that you put the bug in Caroline's ear."

"It was nothing," he assured her, moving her to the new couch - a dark, overstuffed monstrosity that was difficult to get out of but impossibly comfortable. He sat her down, watching her sink into the fluff, before sitting on the coffee table across from her, taking her hands in his. "I have been trying to convince myself that I should not do this, but... I don't think it is fair to you if I were to keep it a secret."

Rory's eyebrows rose. "Are you trying to break up with me right now?"

"What?" he sputtered, sure his eyes would roll out of his head. "Why -- no! Never!" He then noticed the sly upturn of her lips and let out a heavy sigh of relief. "I forget you have the deadpan delivery of a trout, darling."

"Compared to a fish on my birthday, cool," she chuckled, tightening her grip on his. "What's up, Elliott?"

He cleared his throat. "I love you."

Rory's face didn't change for a moment. "I know. And I love you, too." She blinked, seeming surprised. "Holy shit, we haven't said that before, have we?"

"We have not," Elliott confirmed. He had been terribly aware that they'd never said it, in spite of everything, and it had weighed on him like an albatross around his neck.

Before Rory could lean in to secure a kiss, Elliott stroked a hand over her jaw, his throat tightening around his next hurdle. He had known she loved him - he just wasn't sure if she loved him as much as she needed to for the next part. "I... have a gift for you."

"Not another cat," she moaned, referencing his teasing threat to get her another feline for the house. "I can't promise I won't set fire to this gorgeous house if another demon is allowed inside it."

Elliott kissed her forehead before getting up, retreating into the bedroom. When he returned, it was with a small necklace that glittered in the dim living room lamplight. He took his place across from her again, the tiny charm in his open palm for her inspection.

 

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory narrowed her eyes at the necklace. It was a petite, slender turret shell, the mottled exterior glazed in a rich green. She'd seen the necklaces before - Haley had a swirled pink and purple one on a choker around her throat. Rory had even caught sight of a dark one on Alex, though only when she had accidentally stumbled in on him shirtless during a workout. Hadn't she seen her mother wearing one in old pictures? Pictures from before Baby-Rory's arrival horrified and drove away the man who helped create her.

"It's beautiful, but... what-" she cleared her throat, her stomach flopping around, "-what is it?"

Elliott smiled softly. "A tradition in the valley, I am told. It declares intent. I am presenting this to you because I wish you to know that I am yours. For as long as you will have me."

Rory's mouth went dry before watering, only to go dry again. She cleared her throat and shifted, suddenly uncomfortably hot. Why did her eyes suddenly hurt? "Oh Yoba," she whispered, everything swirling for a moment. "Are you... is this...? I don't understand."

Elliott was beginning to get nervous, but Rory couldn't catch her breath long enough to reassure him that everything was fine. _It's cool, just having my first panic attack in seven months, no big deal._

"I... I am sorry, I didn't-" he broke off, his confusion morphing to concern. He set the necklace aside and took her hands, murmuring, "Darling, try to breathe." When she took a gulp of air, nearly choking on it, Elliott added softly, "What do you need me to do?"

"I need you to explain this necklace in layman's terms because I don't think my brain is working with more than a second-grade understanding right now," she managed to get out, trying to still her breathing. Was he proposing? Was he _really_ proposing to her while she was half-drunk?

Elliott ran soothing circles on the back of her hands with his thumbs, voice melodic and comforting. "It is a show of devotion. A... a promise, I suppose. It is a promise to you, from me, that you are my world and I will never leave your side."

Rory managed to quiet her thundering heart enough to squeak past it, "Elliott, are you asking me to marry you?"

"I -- no," he said quickly, reassuringly, though there was something else in his gaze. "Not... entirely. I am simply... professing my intention to never leave."

"That sounds kind of like marriage," she replied with a laugh that sounded pitchy. She tried to get ahold of herself; she wasn't horrified at the prospect - far from it. It was just so sudden, so unexpected. If she hadn't been tipsy, if she hadn't been exhausted, if they hadn't just gotten home from a party - there were so many ways things have gone smoother.

"Perhaps this can be seen as a pre-engagement, then," he attempted, his smile hesitant. "You do not need to wear it; it is only a... a symbol."

She wasn't sure how long they sat in silence, Rory staring vacantly past Elliott and Elliott trying not to succumb to confusion and alarm of his own. Rory finally cleared her throat and whispered, "Well, I guess I need to go find a weirdly-specific necklace dealer, too." She leaned in, arms wrapping around his neck. "I love it," she added softly, willing the panic to eek away. "And I accept your pre-proposal-proposal." Rory kissed him, only then realizing her cheeks were wet and she couldn't blame her allergies.

 _Damn you, winter, for your lack of pollen_ , she thought without heat, melting into Elliott's relieved embrace.

 

* * *

 

The Feast of the Winter Star was an event Rory remembered from her childhood, but only just. Back then, she had been so small that she hadn't needed to worry about presents for others - that was her mother and grandfather's job. For her, it had been all about the food and music, scampering around in the snow and slipping on ice.

Being part of it as an adult was different - less magical, she supposed, but at least now she had alcohol and people her age to enjoy. Her gift to Emily - a hand-knitted parrot plushie that Leah had helped her start - was received with enthusiasm. Rory and Elliott had delivered Jas' present to the ranch that morning, Shane and Marnie helping them with the large terrarium. The four hermit crabs inside scuttled about, making nervous chirping noises while Jas giggled with delight.

The Feast had been full of food, so much so that Rory could barely make it through her first plate. Elliott, on the other hand, seemed to have no issues tucking aside his two dishes and the rest of hers.

"How do you stay so thin?" Rory complained, and not for the first time. Rory had never been overweight, but she had definitely gained some extra pounds on her belly from Elliott's decadent cooking. His ability to keep a physique in spite of it all was mesmerizing.

"Genetics, I would suppose," was his response each time - usually while forking more food into his mouth.

The night rushed in faster than anyone seemed to expect, leaving everyone to grab as many leftovers they were willing to take. Robin and Clint chose then to descend on Rory and Elliott before they could make it to their truck with five huge containers of food.

"Elliott, Rory!" Robin cried, her pale cheeks flushed from the cold. "Oh, thank goodness we caught you before you left!"

"Is everything alright?" Elliott asked kindly.

"We are your gift-givers this year," Clint murmured, sounding awkward. "We, ah... we decided to pool some resources to get something for you both."

Robin handed an envelope to Rory, clasping her hands together in childlike excitement. "Open it!" she pressed, even though Rory had just taken the thing from her.

Rory cleared her throat and flipped the envelope open, pulling out two pieces of paper. The first was a reservation at a hotel - the second was tickets for a play.

Rory blinked at the pages, not understanding until Elliott let out a distressed noise. "We cannot accept this! Clint, Robin, this is too much."

"Nonsense," Robin laughed as if it had been a joke. "You two have single-handedly kept our operations running all year."

"More than running," Clint added. "I get kickbacks for every piece of equipment you order."

"And you know how much I've made off of your house repairs alone," Robin added. "This is just our way of showing our appreciation."

Rory bit her lower lip and glanced up at Elliott, brows raised. "Well?"

Elliott looked torn. "If you are sure."

"We are," Robin insisted.

Rory's eyes returned to the page, finally seeing what Elliott had seen - the hotel reservation was for a weekend stay in Zuzu at the Spectrum Hotel and Spa. Rory's hands went clammy inside her gloves. She'd never been anywhere close to the Diamond District that housed Spectrum, but she'd heard stories.

"You guys," Rory murmured, shaking her head. "This is amazing. Thank you so much."

Clint mumbled 'you're welcome' and 'have a good time,' before making his way across the town square, no doubt returning to his shop. Robin hugged them both, kissing Elliott's cheek before pressing a finger gently to the shell around Rory's throat. "I knew it would happen before the end of the year," she grinned, pressing her lips to Rory's cheek. "Demetrius owes me 100 notes." She waved goodbye, heading back to the food tables.

Rory watched her leave before turning a sheepish grin to Elliott. "So. Fancy weekend in Zuzu?"

"I _would_ enjoy a fancy weekend," he agreed, opening the truck door for her.

"Me, too," she realized. It would be the first fancy weekend she'd ever experienced.

 

* * *

 

Though Rory had been reticent to leave the hotel's gorgeous amenities, Elliott had convinced her to come to dinner with him at one of his favorite restaurants. Rory was glad that he had because the posh streets they walked along were magical. Twinkling lights hung from bare branches, every small park they passed was alight with snowflake decorations, and everyone around them seemed lost in their own lives, paying no attention to Elliott or the gawking Rory.

They had just gotten their drinks at a dark, intimate restaurant when a soft voice from behind Rory interrupted their idle talk about the play they would see in a few hours.

"Elliott?"

Elliott's eyes rose from Rory, but she caught the look of alarm that passed through them before they left her. She watched his adam's apple bob with a swallow and turned to see who was behind her.

It was a woman - older, flawless - in a plum dress that wrapped around her slender frame. Her short cloud of silver-streaked red hair caught the light, shimmering.

"Mother," was all Elliott said, but it was enough to make Rory's throat seal up.

The woman stepped up to the table beside them, glancing around her before taking a seat. "I hope you do not mind," she murmured, folding herself elegantly in the chair, "I would hate to draw attention by hovering." Her eyes, a very pale green, met Rory's. "Hello." The word was stiff, setting Rory even more on edge.

Before Rory could say anything, Elliott let out a puff of air. "Rory, this is my mother, Adelaide Bellamy. Mother, this is Rory Tanner, my..." he hesitated, and Rory shifted in her chair, curious to see what he might settle on. "Fiancee."

His mother's eyes widened, but only minutely. She pursed her lips and fully turned her gaze onto Rory. "Rory... what an interesting name. I have never met a girl by that name before. One of our pool cleaners was named Rory, wasn't he, Elliott?"

"Mother," Elliott chided, tone sharper than Rory had ever heard it.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Bellamy," Rory interjected with a soft smile, hoping to give Elliott a moment to collect himself. "Elliott has told me so much about you." It was a lie, but she didn't know what else to say. All she really knew about Elliott's family was that he left Zuzu to escape them and their influence.

Elliott's mother's mouth was still pursed. "It is odd seeing you so suddenly, Elliott," she bit out finally, smoothing a hand over the tablecloth as if brushing invisible crumbs off. "Your father spotted your name in the bookstore yesterday, and now here you are."

Elliott looked surprised. "Bookstore?"

"I assumed that was why you were here," his mother shrugged absently, looking bored. "To promote your novel."

Rory was trying to catch Elliott's gaze, but he focused hawkishly on his mother. "I hadn't expected it to be in stores yet." After a pause, he added, "Did Father buy it?"

His mother chuckled as if he had made a joke. "Of course not, Elliott. Why in the world would he buy a mystery novel, of all things?"

Rory cleared her throat loudly, drawing Elliott's attention to her. "I'm starting to feel a little ill, Elliott," she murmured, not even lying. The honey of Mrs. Bellamy's noxious perfume was infiltrating her body, making every inch of her quiver in nausea.

"We should get you to the hotel," he said kindly, already getting out of his chair and waving their waiter down. "The check please," he requested in an undertone.

"I will pay," his mother sighed as if put upon. "But you should come by the house tomorrow, Elliott." Her tone and the fact that she would not look at Rory made it quite clear the invitation was for one, not two.

"No," was all Elliott said, tossing notes onto the table for their tab. He pulled Rory's chair out for her and wrapped an arm around the back of her waist. "Goodbye, Mother."

Mrs. Bellamy didn't answer as Elliott guided Rory out of the restaurant and into the crowded, cold street. "I am so sorry," Elliott apologized, holding her closer. "I had no idea she would -- what were the chances, even! I... I had hoped you would never meet her."

Rory nodded stiffly, still horrified at his mother's words. They walked in silence until Rory said, "She's kind of a bitch, isn't she?"

Elliott's sudden guffawing laughter startled those around them, his lips lowering to the top of her head. "Yes, darling, that is it exactly."

 

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

"So... your fiancee, huh?"

The question was sudden and without warning while Elliott brushed his hair out in the mirror, one of the songs from the play stuck in a constant loop in his mind. He glanced back at Rory through the glass - she was sprawled unceremoniously on the bed, her short black dress unzipped and attempting to slide off of her left side.

"I am sorry, I was not sure how to describe us," he admitted.

"Don't be sorry," she replied flippantly, a hand fiddling with the shell at her throat. "If I'd had time to prepare, I could have pretended to be pregnant with our third child out of wedlock."

Elliott laughed, unable to help it. When he looked back through the mirror, her hand had shifted from her necklace to her belly, the slight swell there, and added, "I mean, I could pass as first trimester."

Elliott put his brush down and made his way to her, replacing her hand with his lips as he kissed over her stomach and up to her fabric-covered ribs. "I had not expected you to want children."

"No?" She sounded surprised.

"I hadn't thought much of it," he lied. He had thought about it on more than one occasion.

"Hmm." She sat up, nearly headbutting him with the sudden motion. "Well, I could see kids in the future. I mean, I haven't thought much about it, either," she added quickly. "Just, you know... once things are... settled."

"Settled," he agreed, heart speeding up.

"Marriage first," she added.

"Marriage first," he repeated.

They stared at one another for a long moment, neither one so much as breathing. And then Rory broke it, voice rushed, "Now I can't stop thinking about it."

"Nor I."

Her hands were tugging at her dress, nearly ripping it in her haste to get it off of her. "Come here," she ordered. There was no finesse to her fingers as she tore at his slacks. She had him undressed before he could even grasp it, his hands gripping her hair as she kissed along his abdomen and down to his cock. She didn't spend much time there before leaning back on the bed, wiggling out of her underwear. "Well?" she demanded, and he was more than willing to comply with her spread legs.

Elliott hated how often his mind went from her to the idea of her with his child. How he would pamper her. How he would adore their baby. How they would be tired and sleepless, fettered, and wishing for death some days, but how each delighted giggle of their child, each stellar progress report from Penny, each time they saw the child's smile light up the room - how it would all be worth it. Elliott knew it would all be worth it.

"Rory," he whispered, stalling mid-thrust and drawing her face down from where it had flung back in passion. "I lied about the necklace. I want to marry you." Rory stared at him, blinking, and he rushed out, "Will you marry me?"

Rory's face was blank for a long moment before a charming simper overtook her face. "Well, duh."

It wasn't exactly the reaction he had anticipated, but Rory wasn't exactly what he predicted, either. He leaned down to kiss her and softened at her gentle tongue in his mouth and tender fingers running through his hair.

 

* * *

Rory

* * *

 

They were preparing for their trip home, Rory missing her farm but knowing she would miss the getaway, too, when Elliott's phone rang. Neither of them had a habit of using their phones - in Pelican Town, it was mostly pointless, since everyone stopped in without calling anyway - so the noise sent a spike of panic through Rory's heart.

When Elliott hesitantly answered it, he sounded surprised when he added, "Oh, hello Michael!"

Rory perked up. Michael was Elliott's publisher. Elliott spoke animatedly, most of his words lost on her without context, before hanging up and coming to sit with her on the bed. He turned to her with wide, excited eyes. "Darling, we need to have a discussion."

"Spit it out, Elliott, you're killing me here," she moaned, desperate for whatever news had Elliott looking so thrilled.

"The first royalty check will be arriving soon," he began, voice halting. "And evidently... the book has sold very, very well."

"What!" Rory exclaimed, her insides buzzing. She wrapped her arms around him, adrenaline coursing through her. "This is amazing!"

He laughed softly against her neck before pulling back, his excitement fading a bit. "Michael has secured a book-signing tour. All he needs is my agreement."

Rory blinked at him, confused at his hesitation before realizing what the problem might be. "How long is the tour?"

Elliott looked down at the bedspread for a moment before meeting her gaze again. "It is through the mainland. Five months."

Rory let out a choked breath and nodded, trying to keep it together. She had expected this to happen way-back-when. Their honeymoon relationship had somehow tamped the fear down, but now it was back, glaring her in the face. "That's great," she forced out, laughing and hugging him again.

"Rory, I would never think of going if you wished me to stay," he said when she pulled back.

 _Acting time, Rory,_ she thought to herself, her smile widening. "Don't be an idiot, Elliott. This is everything you wanted - the exact thing we talked about a million times."

"I do not need it to be whole."

 _But I need you to do it so I'll be whole,_ she thought desperately. She couldn't ask him to stay, not when his dream was on the line. She couldn't be the one to stand in his way. She couldn't be the one he grew to despise. "I want you to," she insisted, the complicated half-lie stinging her tongue. "I want you to go out there and sign your name and read the first chapter and make old ladies swoon." Elliott laughed at that one, shaking his head. Rory placed a hand to his cheek, her thumb pressing into the small divot on his chin, his stubble poking her. "I want you to have this."

Elliott kissed her before murmuring, "I will call Michael tomorrow. Today, let us merely focus on us."

Rory was glad when Elliott went into the bathroom to shave. The tears were quick and hot, and she wiped them off with her trembling hands. By the time Elliott returned, fresh-faced and smelling like his ocean-scented aftershave, Rory was collected and smiling, makeup hiding her red, swollen cheeks.

 

* * *

**Elliott**

* * *

 

The town car loitering outside of their house was idling quietly, dark and sleek and infuriating. Rory watched it from the living room window, her jaw set. She wanted to yell, but she would refrain until Elliott was safely inside the car, spirited away from her.

Elliott came up behind her, harried and flustered, kissing the back of her head. "There is still time to come with me," he offered.

"You know I can't let the boys handle the entire spring harvest," she argued gently for the fifth time in as many days. She turned and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his woolen peacoat. "I'm gonna miss you."

"I will call you every night," he promised, his hands tight on her waist, his mouth moving across her face and neck as if trying to make a map of each ridge and curve. "You will never leave my mind."

Rory chuckled, still surprised she had managed to ensnare such a sincere, loving person. She pulled back from him slightly, reaching into her coat pocket. "I, um. I have something for you. You don't have to wear it," she added, using Elliott's own words when he had presented her with the same gift only weeks before.

The shell was a little bit larger than hers, but not by much, and a dark blue. Elliott's breath hitched, and he took it without a single hesitation. He kissed her while fastening it around his neck, his hands leaving the silver chair and finding her face, holding her close.

The town car's horn beeped; Josie let out a loud whinny of protest in response. Rory laughed humorlessly, pulling back from Elliott. "You'd better get out there before your ride leaves. Or before Josie jumps the fence and takes things into her own hooves."

Elliott reluctantly pulled back, nodding. He shouldered a backpack of writing supplies and pulled his rolling suitcase toward the door. Rory followed him, picking at her fingernails as they descended the steps. The driver helped Elliott put his things into the trunk before Elliott returned to Rory once more, covering her face in kisses. "I miss you," he whispered, his voice full of emotion.

Rory promised herself that she wouldn't cry - she couldn't let him leave with that mental image. So instead she smirked at him, pulling back slightly to tease, "You just mean you're going to miss the mind-blowing sex."

Elliott laughed and kissed her once more. "I will miss every moment of you, Rory, the phenomenal sex notwithstanding."

Rory kissed him one last time and smacked his butt. "Go on, then. I'll talk to you tonight?"

"Tonight," he confirmed. He slid into the backseat of the car which quickly bumped its way into a u-turn, leaving the farm as quickly as it had arrived.

Rory made it to the first barn before the tears started, her hands shaking as she led Helene to the milking station.


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

 

**January 14th**

  
**-4:29 pm-**  
_Rory Tanner_  
guess what

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Yes, darling?

 _Rory Tanner_  
no you have to guess  
that's the game

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
We have another cat?

 _Rory Tanner_  
I am going to pretend I didn't just see that

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
So there are no new animals on the farm?

Rory Tanner  
believe it or not, no  
I have been good

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Though this trip is young, I will say that going one week without another animal is an improvement

 _Rory Tanner_  
whatever will I do without you here to keep me in check 😜

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
How are you, darling?

 _Rory Tanner_  
about the same  
missing you

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
The feeling is mutual.

 _Rory Tanner_  
still at the book signing?

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Yes. There haven't been many people, but I suppose that is to be expected in a town with a population less than 1,000.

 _Rory Tanner_  
are we still on to talk tonight?

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Of course!  
You wound me that you would even ask.

 _Rory Tanner_  
well, lick those wounds and get over it because I have something serious I want to talk to you about

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Should I be concerned?

 _Rory Tanner_  
not unless you don't want to see the lingerie I picked up in Zuzu today........

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
I am leaving for the hotel now

 _Rory Tanner_  
Don't you need to be there until 5?

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
I am suddenly very uncomfortable and need to be in a bed without clothing.

 _Rory Tanner_  
😘

 

* * *

 

**January 20th**

  
**-1:29 pm-**  
_Elliott Bellamy_  
How is your day?

 **-5:20 pm -**  
_Rory Tanner_  
sorry had to help Marnie get Shane to the hospital in Zuzu.

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
The hospital? What happened?

 _Rory Tanner_  
not sure yet, he hasn't woken up  
Leah found him passed out near the cliffs

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Let me know when you can  
I love you

 _Rory Tanner_  
love you too

 **-9:15 pm-**  
he finally woke up. they had to pump his stomach - swallowed some pills with alcohol kicker.  
he won't admit it, but Marnie thinks it might have been a suicide attempt.  
supposedly he's made comments before.

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
That's terrible!  
Give Marnie my best

 _Rory Tanner_  
already done  
heading home. Shane's staying at the hospital for a bit

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Get some sleep  
I love you

 _Rory Tanner_  
ily2

 

* * *

  
**February 16th**

  
**-8:11 am-**  
_Elliott Bellamy_  
I had a lovely dream involving us without clothing and your legs around my neck.

 _Rory Tanner_  
well good morning to you too  
that does sound nice right about now....  
getting lonely out there?

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
I will pretend you did not just ask for the most obvious answer to ever fill the universe.

 _Rory Tanner_  
lol  
I'm sorry  
but not really  
I'd be worried if you weren't going insane by now

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
I must admit, I have lasted four weeks longer than I thought I could.

 _Rory Tanner_  
you've only been gone four weeks

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Precisely.

 

* * *

 

**March 22nd**

  
**-11 am-**  
_Rory Tanner_  
Eeeeeeelllliiiiottttttt  
why the hell is this trip taking so long?  
I am pretty sure this has been the longest 2 months of my life  
and I'm including my stint in rehab, too btw

 **-12:02 pm-**  
anyway I know you're in the middle of a reading but  
I miss you and I hate this so much

 **-2:54 pm-**  
oh I forgot to tell you last night that Abby and Sebastian are dating now  
kind of weird, never expected that one, but yea

 **-5:15 pm -**  
hey, let me know when you get back to the hotel

 **-6:24 pm-**  
Elliott?

 **-8:29 pm-**  
seriously, I'm getting worried. call me

 **-11:59 pm-**  
_Elliott Bellamy_  
I am so sorry, darling, it was a very long day.

 _ **Rory Tanner**_  
Yoba's twisted panties, E!! I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere

 _Elliott Bellamy_  
Rest assured, I am merely exhausted and harried.  
I love you

 _Rory Tanner_  
I love you too

 **-12:54 am-**  
are you sure everything is okay?

 

* * *

**Rory**

* * *

 

Rory hadn't been able to sleep very well that night or morning. Something was wrong, but she couldn't tell what. Elliott had never disappeared from a conversation for an entire day - even when he was at book signings, he would slip away for a few moments to update or complain to her.

She supposed she sounded like a neurotic girlfriend, that she was overreacting, but there was a niggling feeling in the back of her mind. Had something happened? She wouldn't even consider that he'd cheated on her - he wasn't the type and he would die before putting anyone through that kind of pain.

But _something_ had to be happening. Was he in trouble? Had that even been him texting her?

Rory was too tired and paranoid to make it out of the house, so she'd texted Sam and Sebastian to cover her barn chores for her while she moped in bed. The moping in the bed had turned into a pampering day, remembering her mother fondly while she applied a face mask. She did her makeup for the first time in weeks, frowning at her reflection for a moment. The dark circles were coming back.

A knock on the other side of the bathroom door startled her. She opened it hesitantly to find a flustered Sam. "Um, so, we were just down at the docks, trying to deal with that net."

"Is someone hurt?" she asked immediately. It would be just her luck if Willy had tripped on her pots or net and broke his leg.

"Um... we kind of borrowed your boat to do it?"

"My boat," she repeated dumbly before remembering Elliott's side project. He'd managed to fix it before he'd left, but Rory still hadn't gotten around to driving it back to the beach. "Wait, what?" Who in their right mind would try to hoist a massive net into a tiny rowboat?

Sam looked behind him as if something was coming after him. "So, um... the boat's kind of... wrecked. And Sebastian has a concussion. ...And Mayor Lewis is pissed."

"What did you even do?" she asked, tossing her hair into a bun and pushing past him. She pulled a pair of jeans on over her leggings and shoved herself into her jacket. "Nevermind, let's go."

The warming spring afternoon was balmy and refreshing, but the ground was soggy with last night's rain. Rory's boots made suction sounds each time she pulled them up out of the muck. "I really, really think I hate spring," she grumbled, more to herself than Sam. "So few good things happen in the spring, have you noticed that?"

"I dunno," Sam replied over his shoulder, "I kinda like the spring. I mean, the Flower Dance is pretty cool."

Rory groaned. The Flower Dance wasn't too far away, but this time she wouldn't have a partner to force her into going. Not that Elliott had to force her to do anything, she admitted to herself in a very small part of her mind. The thought of Elliott made her heart lurch. What had happened to him yesterday?

Rory purposely drove slow on their way to the beach, careful to keep her breathing even and her hands from vice-gripping the wheel. She didn't know a damned thing about fixing a rowboat, and Elliott would know if it had been patched in his absence. He'd poured half of his soul into his book and the other half into that boat.

When they arrived at the beach access point, Sam grinned awkwardly. "So, I was going to run the fish to Gus if that's cool?"

"I can't haul the boat into the truck on my own," she protested. "We can take the fish on our way back."

"Sebastian's down there, he can help!" The words had barely left his lips before he was in his own truck, driving away.

"He has a concussion, you ass!" she called after the truck, cursing hotly before clomping her way morosely toward the shoreline.

The boat was already on the sand, but Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. Perplexed, Rory made her way to the glistening, shellacked boat. There was absolutely no damage and no sign that it had been in the water.

"What the f-" she whispered, cut off by the sweetest words she had ever heard.

"Hello, darling."

She whirled around to find Elliott smiling mischievously at her, coming out of the shack.

Rory's legs were moving before she'd fully realized what was happening, launching herself into his arms and burying her face into the crook of his neck. "What are you doing here?!" she demanded against the soft fabric of his shoulder.

Elliott kissed her head and whispered, "I ended the contract."

Rory's eyes widened and she pulled back from him. "What? Why?"

"Why do you think?" he chuckled, kind eyes never leaving hers. "I said I would be by your side for as long as you would have me. I had broken that promise."

She wanted to argue with it - he was being ridiculous, after all - but she couldn't stop grinning. "So yesterday...?"

"I was on planes all day trying to be here in time."

"In time?" she repeated.

"A year ago today," he began softly, taking her hand in his and leading her to the water, "I came out of my shack to find you standing in the water."

Rory's throat felt as if it was sealing. "I wasn't very nice."

"You were wary, though I cannot blame you. I _had_ emerged from a seemingly abandoned shed."

"Fair point," she admitted, the sloppy grin on her face widening. "I can't believe you ended the contract!"

Elliott left her for a moment to drag the boat down the sand. When the front half was in the water, Elliott motioned for her to get in. Which she did, but apprehensively. She trusted Elliott to not put them in danger, but - "You're sure you know how to make a boat sea-ready, right?"

"Of course," he chuckled, pushing the boat further into the water, hopping in before it was swept out from him. "However, I suppose I should make sure you can swim before I take us out too far."

Rory snorted. "I can swim, but you'd better hope I don't have to. This is my favorite jacket and it's barely holding together as it is."

Elliott rowed and Rory watched the bottom of the boat. When she was sure that it wasn't gaining water, she met Elliott's easy gaze. "Why did you end the contract?" she pressed.

Elliott's lips twitched upward and he stopped rowing, the paddles tucked along the sides and out of the way. He reached for her hands, holding them. "Do you remember when I came to the farm for eggs and milk?"

"Because Marnie ran out," Rory nodded. "I remember."

"That was my excuse to see you again, yes."

"I knew it! Oh, I called that from the moment you said it!"

Elliott ducked his head sheepishly, chuckling, before adding, "Do you remember the toast we made that morning? _To Us."_

Rory's heart slowed before her adrenaline kicked it into overdrive. "I remember."

"When I was on the tour, all I could think of was you and that pledge." His hands tightened around hers. "I couldn't keep going. It might sound strange - Michael certainly thought it was - but I couldn't continue to be away from you."

 _Dependant much?_ Rory would have playfully teased him if she could think past the sudden pit in her stomach. "Elliott, you know I would never ask you to do this for me. That was your dream."

"Dreams change," was his only response, the words soft. He reached into his pocket and produced a small box. It flicked open, a small golden ring inside.

"No," Rory whispered, astonished for some reason she didn't understand, her heart thundering in her ears. He has asked her once before, but she had thought it was merely the heat of the moment. He hadn't spoken about it since, so she had just assumed-

Elliott's brows furrowed. "No?"

"I mean yes," she interrupted herself, shaking her head. "Yes. I mean yes."

Elliott was trying to contain his smile and failing. "For propriety's sake, perhaps I should finish? Rory Tanner-"

"Yes!"

"-will you allow me the honor of being your lifelong companion?"

Rory couldn't decide between crying and cackling in excitement, so a strangled combination slipped through as she nodded. Elliott placed the ring on her finger carefully before opening his arms to her.

Rory hadn't thought through her actions as she propelled herself at him. Their arms had barely locked before the boat tipped, plunging them into the cold water. Breathless and laughing, the pair swam the short distance back to shore, Elliott tugging the capsized boat along behind them.

The sand was scratchy and stuck to every part of her, but Rory didn't care. She dragged Elliott to her, mouth covering his, fingers trembling from the icy ocean dive. That was what she would blame it on, at least.

Elliott's lips were soft as they caressed paths across her cheeks. "To us," he whispered.

"To us," she repeated softly, her hands - and the ring - disappearing into his hair as she kissed him.


	15. Epilogue

* * *

 

Tate’s cries start out as soft grunts over the monitor, but Rory knows it won't be long until the baby is howling. She hasn't missed this part of being a new parent, that's for sure. Even so, she mentally steels herself for the cold wood floor on her toes and opens her eyes.

Before she can move, the monitor picks up Elliott’s gentle tone cooing to the boy. “Shh,” he soothes with all of the patience of a saint. “Momma’s still sleeping.”

Rory settles into bed again, letting her eyes close. She listens to Elliott's humming while he changes Tate’s diaper. Tate giggles, probably enamored by the new mobile strung up over his changing table. He likes the way the iridescent fish glint in the light; he tries to catch them in his tiny seeking hands and luckily doesn't shout when he can't grab them. He's smart for his age - seven months old, and he's already an adept crawler. It took Callie nine months to make the same progress.

Rory is almost asleep again when a tiny finger finds her upper lip, shoving it into a gruesome snarl and making Rory grumble. The giggle that comes next turns Rory's heart into a puddle. “Momma, are you awake?”

“Nope. Definitely still sleeping.”

There's that laugh again - so full of excitement and joy. “Nuh-uh, Momma! You're awake!”

“If I’m awake, why am I snoring?” Rory let's out a rough snort that tickles her throat and hurts her nose, but Callie can't stop giggling, so she puts it down as a win.

“Up,” Callie requests and Rory lifts the blankets so the pajama-clad three-year-old can squirm into bed with her.

“Dear Yoba, your toes are so cold,” Rory bemoans. Callie does what Callie does best and chortles, planting her bare, frozen toes on Rory’s thighs. Rory holds the girl close and shivers, muttering all the while about needing heated flooring.

Callie settles into a doze, something Rory hasn't anticipated. The girl, like most toddlers, does not settle easily. This Sunday morning seems to be the exception though.

Rory hunkers down and lets herself relax, arms wrapped up around Callie, nose pressed into her frizzy, wavy down of hair. Elliott hasn't brushed it yet, but Rory is secretly thankful for it. Callie always smells like honey when she first wakes up, and Rory has treasured that scent every morning since. She wonders when it will leave, but the thought makes her suddenly and overwhelmingly sad, so she pushes it from her mind.

She wakes up now and then but only long enough to catch snippets of the life outside of the dark bedroom. Sam stops in for coffee, as he usually does. This morning's topic of conversation between him and Elliott is, of course, the wedding.

“Callie?” Rory whispers suddenly. The motionless log in Rory's arms grumbles. “Guess what today is?”

“Umm."

Rory braces herself for the impending pandemonium and hums, “Auntie Abby and Uncle Sebastian are getting married today, remember?”

The girl springboards off of Rory and somehow manages to land on the floor without disrupting the blankets much. “Auntie Abby’s getting married today!” she shouts. There's laughter from the kitchen and Callie, forgetting about snuggle time, opens the bedroom door and tears out into the sunlit living room.

Rory gets out of bed and pulls her robe on, sliding into her slippers and wiping the sleep from her eyes. She is greeted in the kitchen with a kiss on the cheek from Elliott and a cheerful greeting from Sam.

“Hey! you look more exhausted than usual.”

“Wow, no wonder Penny loves you,” Rory snorts and accepts the mug of coffee Elliott hands her. “Speaking of - how's she doing this morning?”

“Better,” he sighs. “Thank Yoba. I mean… I have never seen so much vomit leave a person so frequently.”

“Poor thing,” Rory sighs, running a hand through her unkempt hair. “She's having a rough go of it.”

“No kidding,” Sam chuckles. “I just figured it'd be easier, you know? I mean, you were up on ladders and shit when you were about to burst.”

“Everyone's pregnancy is different. I got lucky,” Rory pats his arm. “Hopefully the morning sickness will be gone soon.”

“Sam suggested he take the children this morning while we finish up here,” Elliott interrupts gently.

“Oh! Yeah! Penny thought we could take the kids on a quick blackberry hunt, give you two some time to prepare without interlopers.”

“What's that?” Callie asks from where she is shoving a muffin into her mouth on the hearth, feet kicking out and heels smacking back into the bare stone.

“in this scenario, it's you and your brother,” Rory replies. “Finish your muffin and go get dressed. No dinosaur costume,” she adds before the girl can surprise them with her eclectic clothing choices again.

“But Momma-”

“Listen to your mother.” Elliott tries to be stern with her sometimes, but it never comes out as anything more than a plea. Callie has Elliott wrapped around her little finger, and Rory is positive the girl knows it. “It's too cold outside to be a dinosaur.”

Callie moans her dejection loudly before sliding off of the fireplace and going up the stairs, a hand clinging carefully to the banister as she does. The girl has a strange, unbidden fear of heights, which somehow extends to stairwells too.

“I'll get Tate ready,” Rory says before Elliott can do it himself. She loves how much enjoyment he gets from taking care of them, but Rory gets momentarily jealous sometimes when he does. She hasn't bathed the kids in three days because Elliott - sweet, wonderful, perfect Elliott - has done it each night while Rory checks on the animals.

Tate is in his crib chewing on a large plastic keyring when Rory arrives. He babbles and grins when he sees her. Rory picks him up with a short, slow spin and he giggles against her collarbone, leaving a drool spot that Rory doesn't bother cleaning up.

While she dresses Tate, Callie stomps around pretending the breathe fire while struggling to put her jacket on. “Dinosaurs don't breathe fire,” Rory says.

“I'm not a dinosaur! I'm a dragon.”

Rory snorts back a laugh and tickles Tate's belly, letting the boy giggle for her. “What happened to Miss Gina the Dinosaur, then?”

“She's in the closet on the hanger 'cause Daddy said dinosaurs can't carry rings at the wedding.”

“But dragons are okay to carry rings?”

Callie sighs as if she's the adult and Rory is the child. “Momma, I'm a secret dragon. No one else knows.”

“Oh, of course, how silly of me,” Rory smirks and finishes dressing Tate in a thick sweater, jeans, and useless, but adorable, boots. “Callie Cat, are you ready?”

Callie brushes out her hair as best as her attention span will allow and awkwardly fumbles to tie it into a bun. Her hands mimic the moves she's seen her mother perform day-in and day-out. “Ready!” she says with a big grin. “Can I teach Tate how to swim?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I'm a good swimmer!”

“Callie.”

Callie grumbles but puts her coat and boots on before slowly waddling down the stairs. Rory follows with Tate in her arms, passing the boy off to Sam.

“Alright stinkers,” Sam says, easily popping Tate into a chest wrap and hooking Callie’s hand in his. “I think you're gonna learn about some berry stuff today. Conifers?”

“Conifers are trees,” Rory supplies.

“Ookay, then I have no idea what we're learning about today, but I do know we get to eat blackberries.”

That is all he needs to say - Callie squeals in delight, always pleased at the chance to eat things. Rory follows them to the porch and watches as the three bundled figures saunter through the farm, Callie loudly proclaiming that she knows more animals than Tate does, so she should get an extra treat.

"Callie, no treats!" Rory calls, and then revises, "Sam! No treats!"

He pretends he doesn't hear her and Callie giggles, her dark hair shimmering with the coppery highlights her father passed along. Rory stifles a grin and goes back into the house. "Oh my God, it's so quiet in here."

"We could always correct that," Elliott says, voice dipping a little lower. He's unbuttoned his shirt and Rory has to mentally steel herself. They have a wedding to get ready for, and she really needs the time to properly wash her hair and shave her legs -

And then the shirt comes off. Rory goes to him; he's smirking because he knows exactly how to pull her strings. After six years together, she supposes he should know how.

Her hands smooth over his chest to his waist, fingers hooking at his hips. "You know we need to get ready, right?"

"We have five hours." His hands are already untying her robe.

"But-"

"The children aren't home."

"Elliott-"

"Rory."

Rory frowns at him before reaching for the zipper on his pants. He lifts her up onto the table and Rory leans back, smirking at him. "You're incorrigible."

"We are both very aware that you would have done something had I not."

She doesn't argue because she knows it's true - she would have lured him into the shower with a promise to wash his hair and massage his scalp, only to focus on massaging something else.

Elliott's mouth finds her neck, and he peppers kisses between soft nips. She's having trouble thinking, so she doesn't immediately understand the words he whispers against her throat.

"I always thought I might like a big family."

Rory pulls back only enough to meet his eyes. "Say what now?"

Elliott's smile is wolfish. He tries to return to her throat, but she presses his forehead back and raises a brow. "Are you suggesting...?"

"I am certainly suggesting. Begging, even. Would you like me to grovel? I haven't done it before, but I think I might be rather good at it."

Rory doesn't point out that has groveled before when she's decided she wants to spend the night with him blindfolded and tied up. He is very good at it. "We'd need to expand the house."

"Robin would love to get her tools on this place again."

Rory's valient attempts to keep her lust from overpowering her decision making are faltering. It's so soon - they waited two years after Callie. They had a strict plan. But she'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought about moving the timetable up, too. "Harvey will start talking if I don't pick up my birth control."

"And who would be surprised at this point?"

No one, she mentally admits. No one would be surprised if she popped a child out annually.

"If you are not ready, we should wait as long as you need," Elliott says suddenly, misinterpreting her silence. "We have all the time in the world, darling."

"You're incorrigible," she repeats, her smile unable to hold itself back anymore.

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Yes," she sighs as if put upon but then draws him into a lingering kiss. "I'd love that."

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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